Saturday, August 10--
6:25 p.m.-
Drifting
in the big lake by town. Stiff southwest wind is pushing EZ and I along at the
same speed as fluff clouds heading east. A pair of jet skis is buzzing past a
hundred yards away. Shouts of fun echo from shore; the boat landing has a
pontoon fighting the wind to stay alongside it on the wrong side.
Seventy-seven
degrees.
Mother
Marigold has ten flowers; one past its prime needs a pruning. The leaves have
turned maroon. Younger marigold has a single deep burgundy blossom down in the
center among still-struggling greenery.
School
starts in two weeks.
Pontoons are crises-crossing the
lake and turning, circling frantically like guests who know the party is nearly
over but they haven't yet had their fill. None are leisuring along. I am
dumbfounded that summer has fled when just a week or two ago it seemed we were
still waiting for it to finally arrive, forever.
7:21-
Anchored
in the secret channel. The sun, which set a whole lot further north a month
ago, is ten minutes above the west tree line.
Depressing.
We
moved a mallard mother to injury-flapping panic passing through the gateway.
EZ
just yawned the widest I've seen in months. She's not been exhibiting signs of
lethargy or bad feelings for the past two weeks so I suspect, miraculously, her
tumor has gone away, or significantly reduced in size. I'm going to buy her a
rawhide bone to see what she can do with it.