The bell rings repeatedly, up toward the blue sky sponge-painted with clouds. The ducks are the jesters of the bunch, laughing and cackling while graceful swans stream in between. You hardly notice their feet.
I see my 22nd dog of the day. The cedar bench is hot beneath my legs, but it smells good -- warm and baked, like the sun filled it with secrets that it's just about to spill.
Bikes whiz by. Pletnas navigate the course of buoys. And the church (if you're a romantic, then you'll call it a castle) dots the center of the lake. It's the cherry on a Sunday.
