A tale of Brooklyn Lake, Wyoming
She sees him at the lake every morning. She stands by the pebbled shallows; he sits on the rocky edge. While she likes the sensation of crisp mountain water sliding down her throat, he only stares at the scenery.
True, the lake is most beautiful in the morning. Fresh. Alive. Sunshine dancing on the surface. The fragrance of the forest rises on the breeze, and she loves to raise her face to it and feel the day calling her.
He raises his face, too. It is young; strong, kind. She likes to watch him to see what he will do next. He pulls out a packet of food and eats. When he is finished, he wipes his hands on his pants, stands up and surveys the lake. Catches her eye. She nods, although she is annoyed with herself for encouraging him. He grins.
"See you tomorrow," he says and bows.
She leaves quickly.
But she always returns the following morning, same as he.
Will he be there, she wonders as she ambles down to the pebbled shallows...
He does not come for three mornings. Has he grown tired of her suspicion? Of the lake itself?
When he returns the next morning she detects he is altered in some way.
Sighing, he says, "The fresh air will do me good."
The following morning he brings his food and sits on his rocky edge to eat.
"Where do you come from?" he asks. "What are you doing up here on the mountain by yourself?"
She ran away... ran and ran until she found this sweet place to rest.
The next morning he abandons his rocky edge and moves towards her pebbled shallows. He seems sad and lonely. She tries to tell him that the lake is a place of refuge.
He says, "I know. There is no sadness on these shores, only what I bring here."
Yes... but something watches them.
Everything here is beautiful, but not everything is harmless. There is cougar on the wind. It stalks her. And it stalks him.
The aroma of his food is picked up by the wind. She tries to warn him of the cougar. He swings around. The cougar shows itself. She screams and runs towards it, desperate to protect him. He is up and shouting also; together they drive the cougar back into the forest, then stand side by side, breathing hard.
"Thank you," he pants. "It won't give up. You had better come home with me."
She shakes her head. She has known all along what he intended.
"I cannot leave you here alone," he says.
She runs away from him. Loneliness has taken his mind.
They both return to the lake the next morning.
He has his white rope over his shoulder; he shows it to her and says, "I live on the other side of the mountain. I admit my intentions were selfish and not in your best interests. I will not return. Perhaps our paths will cross again sometime."
And he smiles one last time.
What is this lake if he does not come to it? What is the morning wind if his coming isn't carried on it? She will bring loneliness and sadness to the shores.
She turns from the pebbled shallows and follows him.
She surprises him on the forest path, and he says, "My wife died five days ago. My hope was that you would be the one to cheer her in her last days. But she was not the one who needed you. That was me. How did you know?"
She tries to tell him they are connected in a way she doesn't understand.
"Will you make my ranch your home?" He sets off down the path. "The barn is warm and I have a spare stall."
She trots into step beside him. And they leave the lake behind.
Words & images © 2011 Terri Sedmak. First published May 2011