Tonight we’re taking a row boat across a clear blue lake.  The breeze is up a bit and small ripples persist on the water’s surface wherever we turn to look, but it is warm and easy paddling just the same.  The two o’clock sun is in its glory high above and it’s bright rays dance and sparkle.  As I row, you read passages from a book you’ve just borrowed from the county library–a biography about James Dean–that rebel without a cause.  Two small birds raise a ruckus as they chase a blue jay away.  Now satisfied, it quiets down and your sweet voice, the oars striking the water, and the rustle of leaves dominate the sound scape.  As we near the island a great old house comes into view.  Once the property of a robber baron from days long gone, the house is now a resort that provides pleasant escapes for those who need a break from the stresses of life. As we maneuver toward the dock, employees from the resort help us tie off and lead us to a carriage that a white mare prepares to pull to the main house.  She clip-clops up a long grade finally pulling to a stop at the base of a wide entrance way.  We are welcomed at the front desk and shown to a beautiful room with a fine view of the lake just crossed.  We dine well and later sip spirits as we gently rock in a swing hung from joists above the broad wrap-around porch.  When we tire, we retire to our room and fall to the bed and embrace sharing kisses and love as soft shards of moonlight paint the room.