the mornings that will come again

summer in February

Two weeks ago there was still ice on the lake, small floating islands. Two weeks ago, anticipating a winter visit, I was thinking about the beds, who would sleep where, and I was taking quilts off the shelves and heaping them onto beds for warmth. Yesterday the little boys wanted to see the lake. Ruby Lake! In summer they came with us in the mornings and played in the sand as we swam our lengths from one end of the beach to the other, back and forth, loons in the distance and often a kingfisher on a snag, scolding us for disturbing its breakfast. The boys brought the wooden boats provided as kits at the Sarah Wray Hall in the summer, part of the Pender Harbour Living Heritage Society‘s effort to keep our history alive, and they took off their shoes, pushed the boats back and forth where lake met sand. Forrest and I had a quick dip, the water cold and alive, but when we got out, after I’d towelled off, it was like standing in sunlight on a summer morning, the mornings that will come again.

winter fish