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This place is full of family traditions. If the lake could talk, it’d tell the story of two generations growing up on its shores. It’s hard to imagine life without it, but I know that these moments are transient. My grandfather breathes the final words in a raspy whisper, and they hover there in the few moments of silence that follow—though it’s not silent, this place, never truly silent, with the waves and the hush of the air through the beach grass and the plop of a fish’s mouth breaking the surface of the nighttime water. And in a hundred years, when the house is no more than tiny piles of sawdust, these sounds will remain and carry with them the memory of a family who grew up and grew together here, even after we are all long gone.




Profile for Oakland Arts Review

Oakland Arts Review Volume 4  

Oakland Arts Review Volume 4