A rising sun knifes through the treetops on the eastern horizon as the resident mallard ducks paddle on liquid gold near the western shore. A pillow of fog hovers in a bay in the northern part of the lake. On the south side smoke rises from chimneys of cottages as bacon, eggs and coffee ride a gentle breeze that runs straight to my nose.
For a moment my stretching exercises are on the wooden deck of my lake house before I suddenly awaken to the concrete deck of my desert dwelling, sun hot on my face and a tributary of sweat meandering down my back. I hurry through my final torso twist to get back inside.
My make-believe lake-life lingers as I step inside, or maybe, it’s just a gust of air-conditioning chasing that reality away.
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