When I leave in Autumn, I grasp the porch rail and try to take in and memorize the a panoramic expanse of the now-deserted lake scene. The memory must last four/five months—until I return.
Upon arrival, I again grasp the porch rail,
recall the beauty of a still-deserted lake
,
listen for any signs of Spring returning, and
inhale the delightful oxygen of a newly-stirring New Hampshire.
Then I go prime the water pump.
