We are alone. Just Caleb, Juli and I. 

The silence is broken only by the crash of the waves on the high rock wall twenty feet in front of us. (And the speed boat that just shot past). 

The sky is a light, clear blue today. Soft. Hazy. Not deep. Closer to the color of the light blue we instinctively reach for in the crayon box as children. Wisps of tiny, barely visible pure white cirrus clouds are daring to eat away the blue as they sneak in from the west. A steady wind, weaving constant fingers through my hair, their ally. But the clear blue is still winning. 

After the kids had their fill of playground and sand castles here at Pine Island, we walked alone to the tip of the island, beyond the clubhouse swimming pool, to experience 180+ degree panoramic views of Lake Murray. The pine trees in this spot are paired away completely, allowing for a much different solitude than we find while camping lakeside. Whereas thick tree growth provides a blanket of comfort and security, wide open expanse of manicured lush grass overlooking serene waters screams a reminder that the world and everything beyond is bigger and more fulfilling than the finite insecurities that bite at us daily. 

Multiple mature palmetto trees flock the front of the clubhouse’s second story open air deck roughly 200 feet behind me. 

A tall, circular gazebo sits to my left. 

And old fashioned, wooden garden swings dot the waters edge. 

We are in one of those swings now. 

Caleb, Juli and I. 

The chains are squeaking. 

Back. And forth. And back again. 

But that’s ok. Granny Buckelew had a swing on her screened porch that I and my cousins spent many happy hours on as children. Squeaking swings speak of home to me. 

We’ve been sitting here for two hours now. 

Just swinging. 

We’ve told stories. And listened to ancient fables on iTunes. 

The sun is dancing directly in front of us. 

“At our twelve o’clock”, if you measure distance and space on a clock face like my father does. 

And all we can see is water, blue sky and blinding sunlight. 

Well, except for two year old Juli. She fell asleep in my arms about forty five minutes ago. 
Fresh lake air will do that to a tired soul.

Published by Lisa Cole

Lisa Cole is a freelance writer and social media specialist skilled in non-profit marketing and grass roots advertising. This mother of four weaves humor, emotion and depth into stories about parenthood and life in the American South.

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