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From the deck, which had no railing, in front of the kitchen Mother unzipped the new black camera bag. She set it on the boards, slippery wet, at her feet. The lens cap swung from the black and silver shoulders of the unused 35 millimeter. She worked the switches and rolled the aperture setting down low and clicked almost without thought. It is of my dad sitting at the far edge of the broad flat lawn, back to the camera, looking out over the glass lake. The light is dim. Liz leans against his left side, I against his right, and Tom against me. We are under a brilliant double rainbow. It disappears into the ancient forest of Callahan Island across the narrow lake.

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You wish.


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