All the Way Around the Lake (Encore)
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Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person... And not a computer. I sometimes sound just slightly different. But the stories are always soothing and family-friendly. And our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams. Now, I have a story to tell you. It's a soft place to rest your mind.
And I think it works best if you imagine yourself in it. So as you listen and follow along with the sound of my voice, pull the details of the story around you like a blanket. Before you know it, you'll be in deep, restorative sleep. I'll tell the story twice. If you wake in the middle of the night, you could listen again, or just pull those details back into your mind. Think through any part of the story that you can remember, and you'll drop right back off. Our story tonight is called All the Way Around the Lake, and it's a story about a slow walk on a cold day It's also about crossing bridges, a paper birch tree on an island, and remembering things that were forgotten.
Okay, it's time. Turn off your light.
Set everything down. Get as comfortable as you can. You have done enough for today and now it is time to sleep. Take a deep breath in through your nose and let it out your mouth. Again, slow in. Out with sound.
Good. All the way around the lake.
I was nearly there, taking the last few turns down the dirt roads on the far side of the orchard, out nearly to the county line. Snow had fallen steadily for the last day or so, And while the skies were still low and gray, the wind had gone and the day felt bright. We often say to each other, when clouds blink at the sky, where did the sun go? But, of course, it hasn't gone anywhere. It persists. steadily sending its warmth and light to us, even when we cannot see it. I'd been forgetting things like that lately, and it was laying me low. And I was looking at the world through the darkest, most smudged lens. A friend, hearing that heaviness in my voice over the phone, asked when the last time was that I'd been outside for a good, long walk.
I stopped to think and felt my face break into a smile. I almost laughed, seeing clearly for the first time in a few days. Thank you, was all I said, and hung up the phone and went to find my boots. I turned into the lot, just a clear plowed space off the side of the road with a dozen cars parked in it. As I stepped out onto the frozen gravel, I made sure I had my hat, my mittens, my muffler pulled over my chin, then felt into my pockets for other necessities and found a lip balm and a pack of tissues for the effects of this lovely, fresh, cold air on my nose. I had everything I needed. and set off down the trail toward the lake. Immediately, just being outside, I felt better. I took deep breaths of the piney, icy air, and it felt like a vitamin hitting my system, instantly boosting my mood and energy. The path went through the woods for a while, and I stopped now and then to look up at the hundreds of bare branches against the sky. I saw bundles of twigs and leaves tucked into the crooks of tree boughs. Avian summer homes now shuttered for the seasons.
Black squirrels, their thick, fluffy tails dancing behind them, were checking their inventory. Up one tree, across to another, down to the roots, and then digging in the snow. The path turned, and there was the lake. Ah, another dose of what I'd been missing. I stopped to take in a long look. There was an edge of ice along the shore, a yard or so wide. It was bright and white with heaps of snow, and the water beside shone dark against it. Out in the middle of the lake was a tiny island, only as big around as a kitchen table, but with one tall paper birch tree standing on it. These trees, with their thin, flat bark, tend to attract folks with pocket knives who feel the need to carve in initials and dates.
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