At the lake.

19 April, 2014. The morning was quickly consumed by splitting wood. The sun is out, it’s afternoon, and I’m enjoying the languorous feeling of just lounging about on the boat dock, gazing out at the lake. In the distance, like a memory, the sound of country music dances across the water, lost and then found again among the litany of creaks and groans the dock makes in the breeze.

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