My Grandma is the Lake

The early morning sun shines in through the blinds; I could feel it’s heat baking the walls of the house some days.

I’d slowly crank open my bedroom window. The frogs would put me to sleep, and the birds would wake me up again.

Birds in their bath, in the palm tree out front, pet birds inside – silence aside from their singing. Reminiscent of Southern California days- endless summer.

The smell of lilac and garden roses. Yellow cake and yarn.

Warm winds, sandy trails, mountains and reeds right up to the choppy waves. The occasional noise from a boat. She’d have her morning coffee at the kitchen table and look out at it.

We’d read all day, play outside into the warm evenings, sit down for dinner, then Jeopardy. What a place to grow an imagination.

Fishermen and dogs. Tourists and kids. The epicenter of activity, and the most peaceful place. She was the constant.

And I can feel her in the morning, when the sun beams into the house. I open a window and listen for birds, and when I hear them, I’m home.


*The photo I used is of my husband and two dogs, Orca & Moose, enjoying Lake Isabella during our last trip to visit Gramma Brown.

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