I'm here at Girl Guide camp sitting by Lakelet Lake watching trees and water in a tête-à-tête, and I am simply an observer. Dull humming surrounds me and fills the air, pushing against my light golden locks that appear before the end of each bright summer. I am younger here, sixteen again and pulsing with light, evoking and echoing spirit. My legs are light too as I approach the edges of a tall birch dock that make the water seem like a steady pool without gleam. I find myself plummeting forward into it, water filling my ears and holding me close. The jump is always the worst part of this lake, the cold lasting, but it's a jump I've made before and it has to be sudden. You can sit there and deliberate the temperature, but you know you have to go in, so you surprise yourself. I quickly feel airy and steady once I make it, you do not need control for this. The water stays timid and vulnerable, I have good intentions. The breeze caresses my face, like a crack between the jet way and the jet, you smell the air blasting through the seam and you have your goodbye, touching the frame of the plane as an omen. My mom does not romanticize this moment, anxiety ridden and terrified of flight, but she touches the plane anyways. There's something to be said about being so sure. Is it romantic to know everything? I don't think so. People who are mostly sure are mostly boring, or maybe those people are floating somewhere too. My best friend Olivia appears before me, she sits perched on the dock and dips her toes in the green. I ask her if she can see anything going on through the lake. She responds, "nothing really". "Just old cottages and old people. Lily pads too".  I look an arm's length away as she said they were resting and find nothing, she must have lied, she knows I love Monet. I keep swimming out a bit further but can't make anything out. No houses, no sweet leathery old people with sun spots, just sun and whispering willows. My arms eventually grow tired and I have no choice but to steady on my back. I lay there, and I float a minute longer, just long enough to acknowledge that I feel nothing in this water. I can't even disassociate where my hands and the water meet, but they're shaking hands anyways.