The faded little cabin perched on the shores of a peaceful
lake. Even the road to the cabin was peaceful; the honey-colored sand of
central Wisconsin.
It was surrounded by planted pine forests, where
nothing grew under the trees, and the fallen needles were deep and soft, muffling
all noise save the whistling wind through the pine branches high above.
An old rowboat swayed next to the wooden pier, waiting
for children and old men and their fishing poles.
Summer smelled of lake water, earthworms, and hot pine
sap, and sounded like a creaky hand pump, surly chipmunks, and crickets.
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