Lake water

Over the summer I was a novice penpal, and a gracious girl adopted me as a friend. She wrote little questionnaires and sent cute bits and bobs and asked if I preferred the lake or the beach.

At the time in June of last year, I’d never really been to a lake, but in July, my family drove up to Lake Tahoe for the first time.

We didn’t stay in any cool Air BnB (though my internet odyssey of all things Tiny Houses began here), or find exceptionally good food (we made it), or meet any striking people. And we didn’t really figure out how to Tahoe until half the week had passed (oops).

But somehow I’m always thinking of this place and its big blue sky and the clear waters I kayaked ineffectively through. The church we visited that didn’t have the vacation small talk feeling. Not enveloping but not strange. Blue, green, sunset spark everything. Air to breathe. I actually had a lot of terrible lonely feelings while there in I think Truckee, a lot of frustration over hope and purpose and acceptance. 

I still love the beach, and there’s nothing like crashing salt water. But I wish I’d know someday soon why I can never get lake water off my mind.

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