Back on this date I wrote this story. It is a linear story in that it all took place while writing it. I have edited it a bit but not much. I included the time so you may have a better idea of how long this all took.
June 18, 1989 6:58pm Fathers Day
I had a chance to spend time with Matt and Melissa today. Had a swim meet at St. Louis Park and they went along. Afterwards we went for dinner to Pepitos. It probably wasn't too fun for them but they seemed to enjoy it.
Sitting at Como Lake after dropping off the kids, I first stopped by the pavilion. Didn’t feel the privacy I needed so have moved south around the lake. Lying on the grass just off the walking path, 30 feet from a bench, ducks are rearing up their behinds searching for food on the bottom. Shadows of the sun are casting lines on the surroundings. The harsh intensity of the summers long hot sun is cooling its glare as it sets to the west. Returning to this place brings back memories of previous visit. It beckoned me back. The wind of the day, strong enough for kite flying is dying down causing the tranquil blue water to act as a mirror. Soft quacks of the ducks contentment with the moment can be heard ever so faintly.
Streams of people walk the path around the lake, nary a gap is found as the procession travels in front of me. A band warms up, readying itself for a concert at the Pavilion. A surprise to me. Paddleboats no longer sit along the docks below the pavilion, only fishermen can be found. Green algae covers the surface just off shore, the sight is not pleasant but from the size of the ducks, they don’t mind it. You can only guess this is caused by the run off of fertilizer making its way into the lake during the rains. The state insect is starting to make its presents known, just received a bite.
Mother duck has just brought out her clan; they make their way out into open water. Ten in all swim gently along never getting to far apart.
Four ducks show their stuff not far away, two white, and two mallards. Popping up out of the water paddling their legs, they appear to be standing on the surface, flapping their wings, strutting their stuff. The mallards jump on board a white one, stacked two high, then yet another mounts up and rides high. Must be too late for more eggs to be hatched but they can still enjoy.
A gray squirrel jumps through the cool green grass in front of me, along the shore. Cautiously he digs, looks, digs, looks, making sure I don’t move in on him. His front legs and mouth are black from the moist dirt he works in off the lake. A dinner must be his reason for searching so hard. All at once his prize is found. The large nut now clasped in his mouth is carried away to be feasted upon, perched on a branch of a lofty tree, safe from intruders.
A jubilant march plays as a kite tries to stay aloft over the lake. Higher and higher it goes making its way above the calming effect of the tree line. Suddenly the string appears to go free; the flyer has let out its line. Travelling over head, it has no anchor to call home. The setting sun lights up the line as it passes overhead, shimmering as it moves away from me. Knots have been made in it, making the line longer. The kite loses altitude, the string that was so high now comes down. The end drags in the water as the kite attempts to stay aloft. It would be a shame to let its flight end. Getting up, I grab this thread of life’s flight. Instantly the wind tugs on the string as the kite goes up. I have stopped its run away path. Up, up, it goes higher and higher. Now what do I do? There doesn’t seem to be anybody to claim ownership to its flight. Nobody on the distant shore is gesturing their dissatisfaction with my capture. Seconds fly by. What do I do? Wait and enjoy the flight, seems to feel alright.
In the distance I hear a man call out, “Do you have a hold of the kite”. He says. I answer with a yes. Walking up, he tells me of the periless journey of our lofty kite. It all started with a Father’s Day celebration at a church picnic. All the kids enjoyed its flight early in the afternoon. Interest waned so the kite was moved while in flight to the deck of its owner’s house where the length of string was increased . Fish line, tied to the end gave it altitude, going higher and higher. Time went by and more excitement was needed. A bottle was tied to the line and allowed to go above the trees. The weight of the bottle pulled on the string too much, snapping it sending the kite on its free flying journey. The bottle helped keep the kite up until it hit a churches brick wall breaking all but the neck. Up and down it went; several times the pursuer came within feet of the lose end but missed their chance to nab its flight. Then came my turn.
They were both grateful for helping them end their journey. It had taken them from HarMar to Como Lake. As they reeled in hundreds of feet of line this story was told to me. It will be a dads day neither one of us will ever forget. 8:11 all of this occurred in this moment in time.
A family paddles their way across the lake. Suns reflection blares off the silver side of the canoe. Starting at the front it travels down to its stern as it passes by out of sight. The lake mirrors the image of the distant shore. Walkers double their impression on the picturesque scene. Lone movements add life to the stillness. Dark shadows cast on the background, through the trees that set on the shore. Moments remain before the shadows of the horizon become evident on the view across the lake. Contrast is so great, the brightness of the sun on the shore, lights up the people who watch it set. Some, say it is so nice to watch it go down. Not many look at the other side. Brightness must be filtered by the dust in the atmosphere as it sets. Longer and longer the shadows get. Light and dark, the shades of green.
Hurry run by, walk fast, tell your stories, young and old walk, couples, married, dating, never two men, only women, some holding hands, some not, all working off that extra piece of strawberry pie. Kids ride their bikes with dad and the dog. Short shorts on women that shouldn’t, hot pink, hot green, fluorescent is in. Trombones slur their notes as the music is still being played. I should walk to hear the band from across the lake. I’ll miss the sun set. Behind me the darkness moves its cool, musty damp fingers over my back. Patience, patience it’s hard to wait. All in a line the little ducklings make their way behind their mom. Bumping up to the green blanket that covers their lake. The tallest tree is still in full brightness. Its top will be the first to sink into darkness of light. Blue sky drifts down to white then ever so gentle pink, blue, white, pink – strong lines of green.
Surprise it does not go from top to bottom but bottom to top. Now it is almost half way up the tall oak. 8:41.
No ripples are found anywhere on the lake. Almost perfect reflections now seen across the lake.
Mother and ducklings break into the green muck; stirring it up for an evening meal. Have seen enough for today. I think so.
