Twice now, we've swum in the small lake naked. Sunlight on pale skin, bodies moving freely in the fluid lakescape; the movement of my arms stitching me to the surface. Small feather-winged seeds and insects drift along, snatched up by big glittering dragonflies. Fork-tailed swallows dip and dive, sending up arcs of spray as their swoops skim the surface, butter yellow bellies filled with tiny transparent wings in the blue sky. There's a silvery film on the ripples in the water and where the tall firs and cedars touch sky. Beyond all but the unseen, ravens glide. Their flight traces infinity symbols in the cloudless expanse. Refreshed, we buy vegetables on the way home. Also peaches, yogurt, apples, butter, a battery and blueberries. The car ride is hot and smelly and as we enter the city the magic is gone.