She was basking in the sun, soaking up the rays on her bench against the side of a building out of the wind.
For all I knew, it could have been a day in June. If it weren't for all the snow and the sub-freezing temperatures.
The beach chairs look hopeful, don't they?
A touch optimistic, perhaps.
But, hopeful.
Where is your beach chair?
Maybe you would like to sit in one of these next to me looking over Lake Wingra.
Close your eyes. (That's really a figurative expression here, since if your eyes are closed, you can't read any further.)
Waves tumble into the shore. Children laugh, playing games while their Dad buys a treat at the concession stand just behind us.
On the lake, kayaks and paddle-boats explore the calm water - interrupted by shouts or laughter when the passengers stop paddling or send the craft spinning in circles.
The sun paints little flecks of gold on the waves. Fluffy clouds dance by resembling dogs, cows, rabbits, and memories.
(Summer dreaming sounds awful good now, doesn't it?)
Adjust your sunglasses, take a sip of iced tea, flip the page in the summer novel, and lean back to nature's symphony of light and sound.
Unintentionally, but without a fight, eye lids enclose you into a different time and place in your beach chair.
Lunch is fried chicken, crisp pickles, and buttered bread with more iced tea.
Venturing into the water is warm as the sand squishes between your toes. Minnows dart around your ankles.
The sun and breeze kiss your face like a long-lost friend.
It's a perfect day at the lake, but time to go.
The beach chair will wait for you.
Head back home, it might be time to shovel again.
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