The morning after …

It may be that I’m “camping” right about here as you read this. Probably not – but maybe …
First time back in these parts in at least a decade.

I grew up in lake country … or maybe it was better described as patches of high ground in a big swamp. Warm ice filled depressions left behind after Global Warming melted all the glaciers hereabouts.

This was one of those lakes. Lots of them around here.
Had a name but who knew it? Who cared? It was the place …
“… out where the road tees off by Grass Lake. Turn right, take the next left – about ½ mile down on the right“

One of the places where the ghosts of my past make themselves known. Parties on the “beach” – beach being where the undergrowth along the shore had been trampled down to sand. Someone may have brought a keg. Or two. Someone’s field got raided again for fresh sweet corn. Hand-rolled somethings by the campfire – bottle being passed around. Maybe a game of poker played on a stump. Skinny-dipping in the midnight waters.

Giggles in the night.

Must have built immunity up from the mosquitoes …

Then it was getting light again …

17 was a good age …