these lakes hold something of a memory. of lace beings with wings so delicate they glide on water. we had a small cabin up in the hilltops of the woods the air there is so crisp fogged to the point of extinction of ones sight. mama always made dinners on the small natural grill we made years ago. the entrance seemed dulled from what i recall. i had a small memory flash it was going to be the last i had of him for years. my brother he had lukemia. he was only ten i recall. on a day much like this one. we had just come home from the hospital a couple days before coming to the cabin for the weekend. mother and father kept us away from people who might bring harm to keep us pure we were brought up in cabins as a family thing. i can never say i got tired of it. one summer we had been coming into the cabin he had mentioned he was not feeling so good. papa thought it was his excuse not to help out we all laughed at him. hours later we noticed he had not come down for dinner even after told to. i went up to check on him he was on the floor ina puddle of blood coughed up onto the hard wood stained floors. i screamed in the horrendous way for i was feeling guilty for his death. i never relaly quite recovered now thinking back on it i still feel guilt i feel sadness grow in my cold tired eyes. walking past the kitchens stupid decorated stair case wall. the winds sweet caressing the house's body. the one person cemetery we had laid about with timmy's body underground. i wept for quite sometime. i placed a blanket above the ground over his grave i wanted him to know i still cared for him. i placed his bowl of oats out for him to get. the wind knocked it over on its side. i apologized to him. cut the winds hand. i kissed the ground gently told him he was going to be alright and i was going to be here.