of the lake and summertime and wet, cheese-dusted fingers wiped on damp swim trunks. Of boating across the seemingly limitless water of Canyon Lake as a 10 year old boy with my family and friends, my dad is driving, mom and sister looking out across the lake, forgotten angst and relieved tension spilling behind us with languid and slowly curving wake of our passage. My parents were younger than I am now by about 8 years and in their prime. My sister 6 and clueless, looking overshadowed by her life jacket. The future was a huge table with endless treats I would never have the time to sample. At least it was for me, but probably for them too. The sense of anticipation, of freedom and speed and endless weekends flits through my head and heart, though only for the briefest of moments.
Now, the table doesn't have as much on it. The treats may be better, but they're not as plentiful. The lake has a shore that doesn't seem so far any more. Perspective can sometimes cost an arm and a leg, or it can be as cheap as a Doritos chip.