Place

   Sometimes the waves would be pounding at the small aluminum vessel with a ferociousness that should have sent us all into the drink, taking all of our rations for the weekend to the bottom of the dark, deep blue pond, never to be seen again. The white caps, looking as though they were going to swallow us up with the next curl.  Other days, it was like skimming across a beautifully mirrored sheet of glass, the only ripples were the ones that were following behind us, making the perfect V shape, pointing out the direction we were headed. It didn't matter to me what the wheather was like, windy, pouring rain, or a beautiful sun filled day, I was on the pond. I was happy.