The Segue
There are certain pauses that occur during a lake vacation when it seems that time suddenly holds its breath, then exhales with such a violent burst of chaos and laughter that we forget where we are. These moments can catch one by surprise, such as when a fish hits a lure and almost knocks the rod out of a drowsy hand. Sometimes they build inside us, filling us with a silly fear as we sink deeper into the cool water, balancing ourselves with care, breathing faster and faster until we yell out “Hit it!” and our arms jerk us out of a crouch up, up onto two tiny planks that send us flying across the rainbow-flecked spray like a bobsled leaning into a curve.
Later that afternoon, after the wind has pushed mountains of clouds across the lake, a distant gray wall approaches the shore. We wait for it - our faces toward the misty curtain, watching it roll across the black and white waves, waiting for the inevitable sign that the day’s fun is over. When the first sting of rain hits us we scream with delight and scramble through the pine trees back to the cabin, where a lonely deck of cards lies with anticipation on an old wooden table.
