Pastel colors rippled on the water as the boat glided through the sunset. The girl let her fingertips trail through the cool water as if in a dream. The clouds were floating lazily above, gradually turning pink. Waves lapped at the side of the boat, rocking it gently, making methodic music that caused the girl to feel sleepy. The sky had turned from purple to pink, from pink to red and was now a deep dandelion yellow that made the setting sun pale in comparison. A silver sliver of moon hid somewhere behind one of the cotton candy clouds and refused to be noticed as it was still light out, illuminating a wooded summer scene.

Tall pines decorated the edge of the lake, leaning over the water to see their reflection. Birds sang a special evening medley for anyone who happened by. Chipmunks skittered among the dry brush that embellished the bases of the trees. And the girl rested, silent in the bottom of the canoe in the middle of it all and felt the sun brushing softly against her skin. She breathed in the warm air and then she exhaled slowly. To her dismay, a bell, far off but clear, rang, summoning her from afar. She huffed and sat up. Her movement sent little rings out from the canoe, disturbing the waning sunset’s likeness. She surveyed the scene one more time, smelling, nearly tasting, the strong scent of evergreen, and then she dipped her paddle reluctantly into the glassy water.

The canoe cut through the lake’s being like an arrow through the sky, and with each paddle stroke, a trail of glistening, whirling water was left behind. The girl wished that the shore would never come, but like most things, it came without fail. As she tied the canoe to one of the trees that lined the shore, the bell gave another demanding chime, calling her home. She gave one last longing glance and ran back down the path from which she had come. Home was really behind her, where the birds sang and the flowers grew wild. Home was on the water, dragging her fingertips through its calming wetness. Home was in her canoe.