After a Day of Rain Lilly pads and slippery fern leaves line the path as I walk down to the beach. My grandfather is buried in the lake, or rather, my grandmother poured his ashes in on the far side near the beaver lodge so no one would see. I missed the funeral, too pregnant to travel, and I haven't been to the lake in years. I stopped coming as a teenager because I had nowhere to fix my hair. The beach is brown, a little red with clay. The slender birches green with a day's rain. Red needles from the spindly pines are crushed beneath my feet. The air is fragrant and green and the world is green beneath the green umbrella I hold as I wade in knee deep. The water is warm and very clear. The wind tugs at the umbrella, lifts my hair, gentle as a spirit. I touch the water with my hand. My grandfather is buried here.