While we’re eating dinner or when we’re tired of fighting, my husband and I stare at the swamp behind our house. Gary sips beer as he watches the festering water with awe, like an important piece of architecture.
Will could have remained a mere spectator in the water, looking on with a dozen other swimmers at Olson Falls with traces of worry etched in their upper brows as they waited silently for the muscleman to return from the deep and break the polished-glass surface on this perfect sun-kissed day.
