The Lake Boat

The light was red. I was preoccupied with worries.

In front of me, an SUV with a trailer towing an aluminum four-person outboard motorboat.

I wondered if the boat was being taken in at the end of a long day or if it were being brought home to go out in the morning.

Tomorrow, early, I bet, before dawn. And the people would bring sandwiches and snacks, and try to catch some fish, or just have a getaway.

Someone would hold the tiller steady, reaching back, looking ahead, skimming along the water in the warming morning, indigo and starlight giving way to soft orange illuminating pine trees at the shoreline, the boat buzzing along shaping little wakes across the lake as blue and yellow took over the sky.

And birds, acrobatic and purposeful as they have been forever, replace the day’s concerns with timelessness. Here and there fish splash, white glints lifting and vanishing.

The left lane gets the green arrow and the driver takes the lane and makes the turn, pulling the little boat on a two-wheeled trailer. 

My signal stays red, but I don’t mind. I’m still with the boat.