One should be grateful.

Grateful for the late evening sunshine, yellow and lovingly caressing, for the sough in the trees, that soft, dancing sound of shivering aspen leaves, for voices and laughter in the background, they carry so well over water, Grateful for times like these.

I’m sitting in a rickety, weathered chair, on a jetty so loosely tethered that every movement in this little lake creates a rocking motion. It’s kind of nice. I’ve got white wine in a plastic cup on the armrest and a discarded book at my feet. It’s so still. There’s nary a breeze anymore. My red nail polish is chafing. I’m counting down until the sun disappears behind the trees and the mosquitoes arrive.

One needs to be grateful for the time passed like this.