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Papa at Fourth Lake

I'm sitting on the shore of Fourth Lake in the Adirondack Mountains of New York. It's a balmy July afternoon, the kind of idyllic day that, in and of itself, seems to make life worth living for those lucky enough to experience it. The air is fragrant with summer flora, the water warm and refreshing, the blue sky dappled with puffy clouds, moving lazily in the softest of breezes. I can see why this spot garnered such pleasant memory for my father and his sisters, who spent many childhood summers here on the lakefront property their family owned and on which they built a small cottage.

I am here with my cousin, my brother and other family members to scatter a bit of my father, my aunt (and my sister) along these same banks which they enjoyed so much in their youth. Sitting here, in the shadow of these poignant actions, I'm certain that this lovely day must be exactly like so many they enjoyed here - now some 70-80 years ago. I'm struck with a profound realization of the astonishing brevity of a human life, against the backdrop of a timeless place such as this. It seems quite fitting that at least a small part of them return to join such timelessness.

Welcome back to Fourth Lake, Papa. Right now, I miss you quite a bit.

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