Colors assign meaning to words. Within the depths of my thoughts, each has a color attached. Each color elicits a feeling, a memory, a timeline. I remember the lake where my family would visit in the summers after school let out. It was a cold lake in upper Michigan. I would swim with the ducks and crayfish. One time, I even swam with an otter. I remember I hated the feel of the slick moss growing on the rocks at the bottom. I would float, careful not to let my knees bend less than 45 degrees.
I remember I would go up to visit my grandparents cabin on the lake with my brother and my mom; my dad didn’t seem to visit with us as much. I didn’t bring friends with me, and I’m not sure any were interested in staying a week with my family. I had good times, nonetheless.
I would sit outside at sunset and watch the sky turn from bright blue to orange to red or sometimes pink, slowly then fade into gray. I liked how the tree line would break up the blue of the sky to the blue of the lake. At night, the only thing that would distinguish up there from down here was the sounds of the water breaking on the rocks.
I feel most at home in these memories. I feel most myself. I love existing around water– everything else becomes a tenuous side note.