It was the fiery leaves above the lake I remember the most from that summer. Tom and Louise swam all summer in the lake, but I didn’t like to swim. The lake had gooey mud beneath the water that I couldn’t get used to. “Swim out to the dock!” they would call. “You won’t get your feet muddy if you swim right out here!” But I could never get over the feeling of the slick mud on the bottom of my feet as I stood in the shallows.
Instead I floated on a borrowed inner tube, bobbing on the surface of the water below the leaves of the maples that overhung the shore. The fishes and I enjoyed the cool shade under the trees. When the sun was nearly setting, the leaves turned golden.