My watermark is Lake Rousseau.
When I was young at Lake Rosseau, I swam in the dark, cold lake and enjoyed a blown up water park. I went on all the slides that dumped me into the lake with a massive splash. I even road a jet ski with my Mum before a hurricane arrived. It made the sky dark, frightening and stormy and the water choppy, white and sinister.
When I was young at Lake Rosseau, I ripped my foot on a tin can while swimming back to the beach. Most times I burned my arms and legs in the scorching hot sunlight. Which hit, slapped and whacked me throughout every day. I road the ripple of the boat ahead inside a donut-shaped inner tube.
When I was young at Lake Rosseau, I jumped, skipped and hopped along the path looking in between the hard smooth rocks. I had to find the best skipping stone of them all to skip. Then I skipped it over the calm waves that lapped over top of the soft sand. I saw ducks swimming over top the waves squawking at everyone who got in there way. I even spotted a baby black bear scavenging in the woods for scraps to eat.
As I sat on the front porch and stared out at the small shiny glistening reflexion of the stars shine on the lake. Then I finally realized it was time to sleep I waved the moon good night, walked into my cabin to rest for exiting the days to come.