home

“nan. nanny. wake. up.” “ughhhh” i say in protest, but somehow my eager-beaver of a best friend interprets my barely-intelligible noise as a yes. “get up!” she enthusiastically whispers, “if you don’t hustle, we’re going to miss it!” somehow i grasp around in the dark and find flip flops. a camera. tiptoeing slowly through creaky wood floors and accidentally overlooking the loud zing the screen door makes as it springs back into place, we scramble down the stairs and towards the dock before we hear protests from anyone sleepier and saner than either of us.

the sky isn’t black anymore, but it’s not light either. without a word, each of us heads to an opposite end of the old green canoe and shove off. the air is crisp and cold but not in a winter-cold kind of way. mist is rising off of the lake that looks like solid glass. the only sounds are dozens of birds from all directions and the occasional fish that jumps straight out of the water as if to simply see what’s going on above him. we paddle in tandem out towards the center, and watch as the sky slowly starts to become a kaleidoscope of soft colors.

we make it to the big rock and tie up our boat. a few long-legged strides bring us to the tip-top of this place that faces the mountains and, (conveniently enough), the east. as we sit there side-by-side in the middle of the lake, in the middle of the most breathtaking sunrise, it was a friendship moment, a communion moment, something that even as you’re beginning to experience you feel slight pangs of missing, for you know it will not last.