I miss the lake. I really, honestly do. My Grandparents used to live on a glorious lake, with inlets and marshes. Our uncle would bring up his speedboat from his farm, and our fathers would water ski, and the rest of the cousins would tube. The boat was an ancient mastercraft, with a wide sparkling blue stripe around the hull, interrupted by yellowing white stars. It broke down all the time. We swam in the lake, jumped off the docks, and sunned ourselves on the tethered raft. We paddled around the sandbars in the red canoe, and fished for bluegills and perch in the channel. Across the street was another lake that the channel was connected to.
In july, we would listen for the bang of firecrackers and wait for them to whistle through the trees on the other side of the lake. Turkey buzzards were constantly wheeling in the sky, and with a bit of sunscreen and life jacket, everything was great.