Good Luck Lake, Adirondacks, NY
A wet trail leads down to the shore, through the reeds that line the water. Sounds come slowly back after my footsteps stop, my intrusion beginning to be forgiven. Late November is rust and blue skies, on a good day. And today the lake lives up to its name. It sits calmly, just below the rim of the bowl, the world around it floating on it's surface. Late afternoon brings a melancholy to me. A sadness, I guess, of all the things unaccomplished. Projects unfinished, places left unseen, loves unrequited. I wish I could cast my expectations out onto that mirror, suspend them for awhile, letting winter freeze around them and not think about them until spring. But I keep them to myself, knowing they would sink. Here on the edge of solid ground, I float too--between hope that things will be different, and resignation that they never will. Luck, good or bad, sometimes falls on us out of that blue. But mostly, we make our own.