Songbird

The ferry that you board on the mainland is only half-full--the tourist season is coming to a close as the cold autumn breezes begin to rush in from the north. The lake water is a clear dark blue, small choppy waves colliding with the sides of the boat and the rocks that border the shoreline. The journey across the straits takes only a few minutes, and you sit on the boat’s upper deck, getting misted periodically with cold droplets of water.

 

When you arrive on the island you pick up a map from a stand on Main Street. The island is small, but large enough to have a high school with a football team--you see a sports calendar pinned to a corkboard above the stand holding the maps near the docks. Main Street itself is quiet, a few groups of visitors walk along the sidewalks, peeking into gift shop windows and dining on patios outside of restaurants.

 

You continue down Main Street, and eventually the shops dissolve into scattered houses--the map tells you that there are neighborhoods and side streets with more homes towards the middle of the island. You pass a library, the island school, and then the road is surrounded by trees on one side, the lake crashing against the rocky beach on the other. You keep walking, and every once in a while someone passes you on a bicycle. Some of them have rental stickers on them--tourists, you guess--while others have large, sturdy baskets filled with all sorts of items. Everyone seems to be friendly, you receive several smiles as you walk along the road.