We were drifting.
Then, they managed to get the motor started.
There, in the middle of the lake, the mountains soaring above us like rocky escalators to another land, we were moving again.
The cheese we bought earlier had started to smell, later we would realize that it was a good thing.
The gospel singers were performing Mowtown songs from a previous century.
Dissolving our cares in a vat of maple syrup and feeling good about the fruit we would eat, we tied the boat to the mooring and walked along the shoreline.
Voyages of memory.
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