August 3

We reached Lisa May on her 30th birthday. She's happily married, living in her home town, apologetic for stealing cigarettes 15 years ago from the ditty bag on the river, had forgotten the bobcat attack, vividly remembered smoking one of Hogan's nasty cigars until she turned green, and loved the singing we left on her voice mail.

I made several friendship bracelets of differing patterns, and threaten to use up all the embroidery floss. Good. Then I won't have to cross-stitch anything. I think of those Peruvian weavers who work by hand on their individual looms and produce such beautiful tapestries. While these bracelets are not those works of art, they are still beautiful to me.

Today it is cloudy and five geese flew overhead, heading southeast. Uh oh. The landscape is focussed and clear up close, but farther down the lake, it gets a little fuzzy. Up close, the bee balm is just past its prime, weaving a pretty picture at the edge of the water.

The boats, pillars and dock show clarity. But they don't know what's out there waiting.


Visibility 2 miles, mist. In French, mist is brume, abbreviated BR. And somehow the French mist, a person who made a strong impression in the past, friendship and bee balm are required to be woven into a tapestry of a story. Clarity up close, a fuzzy future, and birds migrating south.