photo by Sean Tan via Unsplash
The lake is icy still, a mirror reflecting the sky’s shifting, mottled face, just as it did that day years ago.
Quiet here but for the blow of Canada geese, the creak and whisper of distant trees, dour chaperones to my every move.
If I had heard your cries. If I had kept you close. But ‘ifs’ are as helpful as that sign and its shedding paint, the letters dropping through the frigid water …