by cheri block
Although the sky threatens, the mountain air is full with the sounds of children squealing and the lap of the water onto the beach.
Up the boardwalk we walk, as we have for 50 years. The beauty of Tahoe beckons.
The afternoon has spent itself; families are packing up towels, sand toys, and coolers. Dragonflies skim the cold water. The wind is picking up. Sailboats scoot out and unfurl their sails, free from their berths; motorboats recede to their buoys.
We too, my sister and her husband, the Judge and I, stay on the dock, sipping a punch sure to ease any concerns such clouds might cause.
The crowds leave for their cabins in the tall pine, fir, and cedar trees. Sandy bodies will enter the bathtubs, towels will flutter on deck rails, and grills will heat up.
We prefer to stare at the lake with its haunting dark beauty.
It would be tempting to recall several rough boat rides home across the 12 mile expanse from east to west.
Instead, we anchor our hats down on our heads and continue to observe the continuum of life on the dock by the beach on tempestuous Lake Tahoe.
One last wooden boat motors home.