Slapfoot

The path winds it's way between the trees and the tires of the bike bump and jiggle over the stones, powered by young legs with seemingly infinate energy. Every rock, tree and animal home memorized. On the moss, young feet found their footing. On the stones, training wheels rattled. The life in these woods raised a child.

The trail follows the shoreline of the lake. The sun sets over the tree tops and casts jewels of light off the water in its bid goodnight. The last heat of the day to warm the lake. It starts on the edge of the sand and the echos of swimmers become muffled as it winds arounds stones and trees. On the left, the woods hug the edge of the path, on the right the beach is made of round stones. Plants, native and rare to the area grow up between them. Turn east, don't forget to vere around the big granite rock that has grabbed my peddle more than once, responsible for many scrapped knees. The beach is sandier here. The sun at my back casts gold into the woods and they glow with warmth. The white gravel of the path is a contrast to the dark shadows of the undergrowth. Faded canoes lie in the sand waiting. Turn left up the big hill and the end of the path to re-enter the world of campers. Quiet conversations of families belonging to each tent. The one way dirt road is rolled smooth and bare feet slap on the cool surface.

This world is mine, a treasure kept just for me it seems, that I have soaked up through my eyes for 31 years. Time evaporates here. Maybe I'm older but maybe I'm not. The view is always the same so who can be sure.

Two more lives unfold beneath the tall trees hanging over the path. Memories of this place will mark the passing of their childhood. Their life held in it's embrace, where time stands still.