Now, long gone is the moss covered cottage, replaced with slate gray ostentation. Even the leaning pine has been felled, erasing all mystery and shade. Open, on display, unrecognizable; but the big black rock, the anchor to my childhood remains, peeking out of the water, daring me to remember.
The afternoon sun shimmers reflecting silver in the big black rock. I swim out darting through the clear water and pull myself up, balancing atop its elongated shape. Feet dangling in the water, my bathing suit drips, water pooling on the hard surface camouflaging the silver flecks beneath the warm blackness.
The water is calm, the lake a sheet of squeaky-clean glass opening across the bay to the Collingwood Mountains. I can see where the ski runs of Blue Mountain line up vertically askew like my great grandmother’s crooked fingers.
What caused the weather to change over night?
Yesterday the waves crashed and winds whipped tossing us kids around like pebbles at the shore. Squealing and laughing, sand wedged in every crevice of our bodies, we rode wave after powerful wave. My mother yelled out from the shore warning us of the undertow.
Today it’s the crisp quiet of the lake that comforts me. It mutes the noise in my head putting me in a trance, relaxing my body, my mind.