Water laps upon the rocky beach, surrounding us with white noise.
Birds above us call and sing out to one another in repeating patterns which we have both heard before.
The wooden dock beneath our bare feet is darkened by the overwhelming saturation, which drips rhythmically into the frigid lake
In the springtime breeze, your hair blows, submitting to the wind with every gust it lays upon us.
This is the image of you I will never forget as we splash down the soaking dock, making our way to the boat.

The rushing water that beats against our beach and the pale, underwhelming sky which keeps the sun from drying off our dock.
We were slaves then, to the lurching world, where the only consistency is inconsistency.
The dark waves withdraw from the shore as we get into our boat and go, to a new and better place.