A LITERARY COLLECTION FROM VERMONT WRITERS

I swim out into the middle of the lake, and treading water with a slow scissors kick stop to have a look around. From here both shores are equally indistinct, smudged in the shadows of the late afternoon. I am the most myself in water, out here where I do not belong and cannot stay forever, where it is my head alone that shows above the surface as if that is all there is to me: my thoughts, my hopes and dreams, the many complicated ways in which I imagine things matter. The m