The water in the lake does not move much. When it does, I am surprised, anxious, irritable. Why have I come here? I ask myself, again and again. Is it so bad in the city? Is it so easy for us to access this nature, this landscape that is neither ours or its own, on its own? Things are complicated, I hear the voice say. Things do not make sense because they make sense. I can see the Chicago apartment, the stack of bills unpaid, debt.
We drink some whisky and swim just after noon. I feel less frustrated, and on my back in the water I think I could be like a sea mammal, a blue whale leaning on its side to expose one big eye to the sun. The voice goes away at some point, and I am left alone, only buoyant--just floating.
