Seawall Soul & Lady of the Lake Laughs

 

 

Dear Clear Lake, 

You always know how to dress up for summer nights  — golden skies melting into the lake, seagulls squawking like they owned the place, and locals clinging to their ice cream cones like sacred rituals. 

The seawall? She's not just cement and waves. She's where we sit with our legs dangling, trading stories, mosquito bites, and sometimes secretes we never meant to share. I swear there's something about those rippling waters that make us all a little more honest—or a little more dramatic. 

 

 And then there's Lady of the Lake, or as I used to call it when I was younger — Lady of the Boat. She is the queen of charm and creaky floors. We climb aboard like pirates with zero navigational skills and strong craving for popcorn. She gives us sunsets that look like they were out of magazines, and windblown selfies that somehow always ended up as profile pictures. 

 It's a kind of summer memory you don't realize you're making until years later, when you're sitting in a different town, missing the sound of waves slapping against the dock and that warm-lake-air-hug that says, "You're Home." 

 

Clear Lake, you're not just a dot on a map. You're a feeling. A mood. A messy cone dripping down your hand. You're the sound of kids chasing each other barefoot, of music spilling out from the band shell, and the little inner exhale that says, "This. This is the good life." 

 

Until next time, 

A woman who'll always wave back at the Lady