Morning By The Lake

by Edil Rentas Casiano

This morning I went by a lakeside park I had never visited before. I've driven by Carney Island Park plenty of times, but one is always in a hurry and doesn't make the time to see nearby places.

How many gems have I driven past, sitting right there beside me, without ever seeing them? When I entered the park, I was surprised at its size. There are trees there that must be a few centuries old, like this oak, which has a branch extending so far sideways that it rests on the ground. The branch itself is as thick as a fully grown mature tree.

The park was practically empty. A young woman in her thirties, with blond hair, sat near the water, while her little girl, about three or four years old, played in the sand, her small laughter carrying across the quiet morning. I also found a lovely older couple sitting on a bench overlooking Little Lake Weir, so peacefully that I approached them quietly, keeping a slight distance not to disturb them.

The gentleman had a couple of books on his lap, one of them quite big. I didn't really notice whether they were a Bible or some other books, but the pages of the book he was reading looked so bright, as if they were beaming the beautiful sunliight of the morning.

I greeted them and made some small talk about the size and beauty of the trees at the park. They kindly shared information about a couple of other spots where I could see big old trees.

"My name is Ed, by the way," I said, introducing myself. "I'm Sam," and "I'm Liz," they replied. I stood there for a moment admiring the beauty of the park, then slowly walked behind them, taking in the high canopy of centennial oak branches, with what seemed like hundreds of golden cascades of Spanish moss flowing from them.

I noticed Sam softly reading to Liz from one of the books, so I did not want to intrude and disrupt the moment they were sharing together, even though they might not have thought of it that way. I saw it, I felt it. It was one of those fleeting special moments that we can have without thinking about it, without knowing about it. It was a tender, lovely moment. That's when I decided to take their photo. I raised my phone, Sam looked my way, and with a nod he said yes.

I wanted to stop time right there at that moment so they could enjoy it again.

Before I left, I asked Sam if he wanted me to send him the photo, and he agreed. I sent it to him, and later I sent him this short piece inspired by their presence, so they could have the story behind their picture.