Summer memories
Feb. 16th, 2005 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vaneramosOne of my earliest memories of Lake Fletcher was a nightmare I had sleeping in the bottom bunk of Joyce MacKenzie's cabin. I must have been three or four. I dreamt that a sprite (it looked like tinkerbell but was evil as an electric shock set loose from its socket) went zooming around the space between my bed and the top bunk. I reached out and snatched it, but the thing sputtered in my hand like a sparkler and prickled until I let it go with a static crackle.
I woke to such utter darkness that waving my hand in front of my face I saw nothing. That is the only time I ever remember being afraid of the dark.
As a boy I was also terrified of the deep water and leaches. One summer at least, I refused to swim in the lake.
But I have always liked the smell of gasoline. It used to remind me of riding in Neil MacEwan's motor boat.
Now I love the silent nights with stars spread on black velvet. And I love plunging into that nectar sweet living lake more than anything else in the world. You have to work yourself up to it.
I woke to such utter darkness that waving my hand in front of my face I saw nothing. That is the only time I ever remember being afraid of the dark.
As a boy I was also terrified of the deep water and leaches. One summer at least, I refused to swim in the lake.
But I have always liked the smell of gasoline. It used to remind me of riding in Neil MacEwan's motor boat.
Now I love the silent nights with stars spread on black velvet. And I love plunging into that nectar sweet living lake more than anything else in the world. You have to work yourself up to it.
