Scenes (and not seen) from a summer evening Up North

As the sun set over the lake, I sat on a bench at a public beach, eating ice cream and idly snapping pictures.

The water, the treat and the gorgeous colors all converged in a happy confirmation of something we’ve all known our whole lives: the very best things in life don’t cost anything but time.

I saw a bunch of children swimming in the distance as a boat puttered past them. Then I watched two young men expertly dock their vessel.

The sun dipped a little lower and tossed its gorgeous colors out over the water.

My husband joined me on the bench and we sat in companionable silence.

“Those guys did a nice job docking their boat,” I said.

“They knew what they were doing,” he replied.

Laughter bubbled up over the water. I pointed out the children swimming in the distance.

My husband didn’t reply. I guessed he was too busy enjoying his ice cream.

He mentioned once again how much he enjoyed Sunday nights Up North and I agreed.

We’d squeezed in a late afternoon river float on water so calm and clear it felt like we were moving through a Monet painting.

Then came the trip for ice cream, our second Sunday scoops in a row.

“This is nice,” my husband said.

“It is,” I said. “I’m a little worried about those kids, though. They’re pretty far out.”

He looked at me.

“They seem like they’re having fun, but they’re just so far from shore,” I said.

“Laura,” he said.

I pushed my glasses up onto my nose and looked at him.

“Those aren’t kids,” he said. “Those are ducks.”