it covers me. (lake part II)

I am at home now.  I am on a plush couch listening to planes leave Logan airport, with two cats wandering around, occasionally brushing against my ankles.  My apartment is quiet, except for the small playlist I have been listening to on repeat.  The songs on the playlist are stripped down - a piano and a male voice singing songs to God.  I am at peace now.

The peace of the lake began at the shoreline, where a children's paddleboat waited patiently for use (my sister and I paddled out on it early in the day, making a loop around one of the many small islands in Belleau Lake).  The peace stretched out along the dock, into the pontoon boat where we lounged in the sun, bundled in coats but still drinking cold water and beer, nestled into the cushions of the bench seats while the brothers fished off the sides of the boat.  Classic rock radio was on, but not too loudly, since not even Led Zeppelin would try to outdo the lake.  The peace slipped into the water, which remained still around us as we drifted to various spots for the men to fish.  They swapped out lures (a fluke, a spinner - pronounced "spinnah" - and a spook were among the lures that I learned to identify), cast their lines, and told past fishing stories while my sister pointed out a tree with leaves that had turned yellow; her husband said it looked like fireworks.

The peace followed us back into the house for lunch, and into the places we chose to rest: my sister and I returned to the tethered boat where we allowed ourselves to be hypnotized by the rocking and the sunshine.  The peace drifted from the boat to the sky, a rich afternoon blue, and into the gathering clouds which would bring the rain in the middle of the night.

We had peace around the fire, warmed and covered in blankets, and we had peace as we slept, my boyfriend and I in twin beds in the downstairs room.  I woke up several times during the night, but heard nothing, and saw him sleeping, and turned over on my squeaky mattress to find the peace in sleep again.

Sunday it rained all day.  There would be no boat ride, no fishing, but we continued to talk about the blue sky of Saturday, the bass and pickerel that had been caught and photographed (I had insisted on running my hand along the slick back of each fish before its release).  We watched football, we watched the country music station, we watched Ghost because it was on TV.  I made my grandmother's sauce, and then mixed the cheese, and then layered lasagna.  We ate, and looked out at the lake and the peace falling softly in rings on the water, and the brothers went out in jackets to fish in the rain but came back empty-handed, and wet.  They dried off; we found new places on the couches and rocking chairs, and found another football game.  At least one person dozed at a time, and even in our rained-in restlessness there was peace.



My favorite song on the playlist has come back around...

Amazing grace, how sweet the sound
Amazing love, now flowing down
From hands and feet that were nailed to the tree
His grace flows down and covers me.

And covers me...
It covers me...
It covers me...
And covers me.