29.06.2010

bees drown in the lake, trying to drink. the smell of daisies, somewhat unpleasant, is amplified and thickened by the heat. the dog pants deeply as we descend from the rise to the water and boats line up a hundred yards out to exit the lake. when their bad music reaches us, it is in a muffled way, and for that, no longer so bad. the men and women are reddened, happy or tired, ready for dinner or ice cream or bed. there are beets in the oven at home, which i picked from the garden. there is half a bottle of red wine, some hard goat cheese imported from holland, olives. feebi and i crunch over dry grass and mossy sticks that have fallen from the now dry oaks above. we reach the lake's edge and i take off my shoes to wade for a moment, before the beets burn slightly and the wine is depleted, and the crackers topped with thick slices of cheese still cool from the refrigerator. the dog joins me to lap up some of the water around my feet, they look like white fish hiding in the silt beneath the ripples. i imagine the house is fragrant now with cooking food, that i am cooking from a distance, almost in secret. the days are growing shorter, but still long, and the sky is barely blue, without clouds. the sun is still high though i know it must now be at least six o'clock. i am older, and feel tired, but not old. i almost drowned once, in this lake.