Spike on the River
Neal in Antarctica
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September 03, 2003 - Wednesday, 4:47 p.m.
Take a deep breath and think about something pleasantů perhaps a comfy lawn chair sitting on the sand of a beach. A tall glass of lemonade in your hand, warm sun on your cheek and the quiet lapping sound of the lake washing against the shore. You daughter is sitting quietly in the sand building a castle and playing. On the wind are the soft noises of birds and kids playing in the water down the beach. You slowly close your eyes.
Tall, pristine pines run along the crest of the hill behind the cabin. Large oaks and elms dot the lawn around the cabin creating a pale green canopy. The sun shining through the leaves gives a golden green glow to the yard. Large dark windows face the lake, reflecting back the dark blue water and silver sunlight shimmering on the surface of the lake. A pale brown sand beach rims the edge of the lake a hundred yards from the porch of the cabin. A dark blue lawn chair sits in the soft sand, a large elm branch providing a small pool of shade on the sand for you. A short dock juts out into the lake, a small boat tied to the end of it. As you open your eyes you see a bright red bucket half filled with sand and a yellow shovel lying next to it. You daughter is wading in the water near the shore picking up small shells and arranging them on the edge of the dock. A soft warm breeze rustles the leaves overhead. With a quiet sigh, you drift back into a dream-like state.
The sun is low in the sky across the lake, the golden light twinkling off the surface. The sky is turning a deep, dark blue overhead. Picking up your empty glass and calling to your daughter you head back towards the cabin. The gold and deep pink color of the sun reflects back at you from the dark windows of the cabin. Stepping onto the porch the delicious aroma of beef stew that has been cooking all afternoon in the kitchen wafts towards you. The screen door creaks as you open it and then snaps back at you as you drop it closed behind you.