The lake. Just this past week I realized how I refer to "the lake" in everyday conversation, assuming that everyone else in the world knows that "the lake" is referring to my parent's house on Clear Lake.
I am here today, again sipping some steamy black coffee and am experiencing a view. There are no waves crashing against the shore this morning, just a lake of glass and a stillness that I have not experienced since my early days in California.
The lake is one of my favorite places on earth. There are times when the walls are bursting with people, all four of our water-mobiles are so full they are practically sinking, and not a place in one of our 30 outdoor chairs can be found. The lake has hosted uncountable reunions, celebrations, and get-togethers over the years. More memories have been made here than any other home that I've had.
Eventually the masses go home and we are left. Usually my mom, do put the house back together and sometimes a few more of us to help. Then on some rare occasions its just me. Me and the lake. I feel like I am sitting in the eye of a storm, taking in a stillness and beauty while everything else continues to rush around me.
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