We’ve spent the most wonderful Labor Day weekend at the lake. There has been a great deal of gathering and laughter and eating and drinking and general merry-making. It’s exactly the sort of weekend I love to have at the lake, the sort of thing I dream about that gets me through the dead of winter.
The most gorgeous moon rose right over the lake as my husband, my father, and I sat watching the last of the campfire burn, resting in the comfort of family and the knowledge that this night, and so many more just like it, would last longer than any of us sitting there could imagine.
We sat in the dark watching the stars come out, dreaming about the future, talking about how delightful our lives were to be there at that moment, how our family wanted to keep coming to the lake for many years to come and simply enjoying one another’s company. The bugs were held at bay. The light was perfect. The wine was heady. The lake was still. The conversation was sentimental. The fire was smoldering. I was in heaven.
The lake is still my sanctuary, as it has always been. It fills me up to have nights like this.