They carried their own canoe and kayaks to the water this morning. Down the steep path through the pines. And now they are off slicing through the flat clear lake water, their voices and the sound of their paddles dipping carrying --the only noise across the stillness, save a dog's bark far away and the faint rustle of wind in leafy branches overhead.
I see them still: tiny confident specks in the distance. And I think to myself, when did they grow up?