Lakeside Musings

by Kay Rob

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There’s a lake behind my house that spans the length of ten or twelve homes in a row. It’s surrounded by trees with low limbs, along with dense vegetation leading down in a sharp slope to the water. We are less than a mile from the busyness of town, but somehow, an oasis was created in this minute pocket of the world.

I’ve sat out here a lot and dreamed up children’s stories involving the various small animals who use our backyard as a bridge between their wild and our civilization. Even now, I am watching two fat breasted robins duke it out over a pretty long earthworm. Just share it guys. Don’t worry! Be happy!

The most intriguing thing about my backyard, though, is something that appears on the very far away bank. A browned skinned woman who is standing up to her chest in the gently rippling waves stares across at me. Her stance and gaze is unwavering. Her arms are straight out, palms gently skimming the surface of the water. Her long black hair flows straight down her back.

My vision seems to blur as I try to focus in more on the figure. I go inside to retrieve my small pair of binoculars. When I focus on the woman, I see that it is actually not a woman at all. It’s a bare spot of dirt sloping down to the water. A large rock of some sort seems to sit here as well. I shrug my shoulders and lower the binoculars.

I have Native American ancestors, so it’s nice to think that I may have someone out there watching over me.

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