It is the dawn of a late summer day. A small boy is on the shore of a lake with his head laying in the damp, muddy grass. He can smell the clay and the algae and the rich detrius of generations of fish that have long settled into the soil. His fingers are wet with dew and his feet are wet with lake water.
The boy looks up at the pale blue-green sky with a bugs’ eye view of the reeds and the dragonflies that dance among the cattails. He snuck out of the house just before 6am because the dark room was stuffy and hot. The cool air is a relief, and his clothes no longer feel sticky and suffocating. He has grass stains on his knees.