Sunday morning, my sister and I sit on our beds and row. We are missing camp, but it is still only October. We woke up into the chilly morning and put on our bathing suits. We use wooden rulers for oars and sing “Michael Row Your Boat Ashore.” My sister asks me to braid her hair and I do, even though it is pixie-short. She asks if we will have roasted marshmallows at the cookout that night and I assure her we will. Everything is possible, before our parents wake up.
two young girls
row their boats
on the lake of memory
