It was early, and few of the other campers were in the building yet.
“I spend a lot of my time in here. And there’s the writing room a few doors down, as well as the musical theater room down the left hallway. Pinecone Lake is a stone’s throw from this whole building, the Arts Center. There’s often canoeing and crew. Sometimes, during lunch, I like to go down by the lake and just sit there. And I think about things,â€? I explained.
“What kinds of things?â€? Casimir inquired.
“Oh, well, you know. What could be going on back home, my friends, and my father and such. And I write some letters. Occasionally, while I’m before the clear lake, I watch it’s waters shimmer in the sunlight. I know, it sounds cheesy. But I can’t help but notice it…â€? I attempted to say.
“No, it doesn’t sound cheesy. It seems observant. Reflective, in a way,â€? Casimir replied.
I loved it when he looked into my eyes. He gazed as intently if he were looking at the sky on a starry night.