At the Lake

I had my doubts about this small squeaky old bed, but after sleeping so soundly in it the past 11 hours, I'm convinced it will be just fine! These two little "rustic" cottages may not be as pretty as others in years passed, but they definitely add their magic to this place. It occurred to me yesterday, as we drove the long slow hill of East Lake Road, along the eastern edge of one of New York's most attractive watery fingers, Keuka Lake, that this area does that -- it casts a magical spell on me, on us, so that no matter how many times we've "been here, done that," it is special to be here. The weather is perfect (no humidity!) The sounds are soothing. Secluded, and yet surrounded by spirits familiar, it is a place that always leaves me wondering how we could stay.

I enjoyed the 15 plus hours of travel, for in it I am capturing images and ideas to explore. I recall the bridge in Louisville, like a rust-streaked yawning mouth we passed through, and the shimmer of pink on the crackled glass of the lake last night.