The last day. No sun. So cold.

The saturation of color. Red mushrooms, brown mushrooms, gray mushrooms; thin, soft bright green needles on the conifers.

He just looks so sure of himself. The top of his head barely reaches my waist. He’s in his onesie pajamas and yellow rain boots with fluffy blonde bed head and black-rimmed glasses. We greet him. He hesitates and then says hello.

The swell of emotion.

I grab a chair and sit on the tiny dock, the one that can’t really fit more than one person, and call him.

Wetsuit swimming. I imagine the water still seems so cold.

We linger in the dining room talking about the challenges of being a community leader. We think about the place we are in and where one could go and wonder how do we train ourselves and one another when so much change is emerging all at once. There is no easy answer. Are there ever easy answers.

I realize that my own answer feels as wrought as hers.

I just needed one more day. Or maybe three more days. I begin to plot how I might procure the cabin named Sommers.

The way the fog is weaving itself in and out of the trees and rock formations. The moodiness of it all.

Laughter, insight, a big plate of ziti and Caesar salad. I’m glad I made time for this.

Don’t think about the to-do list.