The large black shadow of a kite arcs across the moonlit sky angrily chased by a little, green glow. Rob leans back as the lines to the kite tighten and drag him a step forward. Mike has added a glow stick to one of the lines and the wind is up. Inside, two fireplaces are blazing and conversations buzz. This is the last night at the house and there is celebration.
Those that aren’t staying have headed home now. Of the rest, I am the first casualty. Sleep beckons and I crawl into my sleeping bag but oblivion is broken by my phone alarm telling me it is time to get up. There had been a plan to go fishing before work but sleep is insistent. Later I wake of my own accord and am the first moving when the sun creeps over the horizon and occasionally peaks through the clouds. Reminders of the party are all around including a body curled up by the cooling coals in one of the fireplaces. Coffee percolates and the cleanup starts. I can’t find my shoes.
A day later I am on Cornell Point trying to put my skirt on. The wind is howling down the river and the tour has moved quickly. After the one attempt to paddle into Everett Cove proved futile, we are going to try for the harbor. My hands are stiff and weak from the cold. Only a burst of willpower gets the skirt on. The warmth and friendship of Friday night has become memory and only coffee is fueling me. Last night we couldn’t keep our eyes open much past 8, the warmth from the fire and the murmur from the TV a pleasant reminder of the previous festivities. Today there is cold and wind and crows playing in the tree line.
Back at the shack, everyone is bundled. The little heater hasn’t been able to keep up against the chill with the number of people coming and going. There is talk of how to spend Sunday evening but I have plans. We shut the shop and head off in different directions.