the clouds poured over the treetops and spread evenly over the top of the lake. the beach is empty, except for five lifeguards and us. rain speckles the dark water and taps delicately on the roof of the concessions stand, line-less, several cases worth of memorial day hot dogs still huddled pinkly in their plastic sheathes.

small swallows dart over the water in large arcs — gaining altitude and speed then dropping vertiginously close to the lake's surface and swooping up again into low hanging trees. from the opposite bank, water carried the muted sounds of hardier hikers and their dogs. breathing, crunching leaves.

we set our snorkels and towels down. i disrobe.

you sit on the beach for a moment, while i pick my way into the water, then dive deep under the buoy.