I stood on the bank gazing out across the lake for the first time in months. Still and calm. The fallen tree serves as evidence from the winter storms; one after the other. Winds howling like coyotes, licking icy tongues across exposed skin time and time again. Trees shaking their branches as if girls with long hair. "The thaw is coming" they say, but it's the 22nd day of the 5th month. The lake looks like it could hold up me in my red canoe, but another storm is headed our way. I turn to head back in and something else red catches the corner of my eye- Wyatt's toy truck perched on a turned-over bucket. It must have been buried under the snow. I smiled, snatched it up and tossed it in the air and caught it a few times as I walked back up to the house. It's like seeing a robin as a sign of spring just around the corner...a sign of hope. I walked in to the warm house, peeled off my layers, slipped out of my boots and headed to the den to sit by the fire. I looked around for something new to read, but being here at the cabin alone for so many months, I'd read everything. I went back to my coat pocket and took out Wyatt's red truck. It belonged on the bookshelf among our favorite books next to the snowflake he had made in the 1st grade.
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