I suppose it’s the rise and fall of social circles as we age: the introduction of puddles.

How exactly does one get rid of a puddle?

It’s not the kind in your boot exactly, from when you were a wee tot and enjoyed nothing more than going in the ditch so the water crested the top of your wellies with the red bands rounding your calf. When you’d squish about with all that water oozing between your toes in your socks that you KNEW your mother would just shake her head at but was there anything better?

No no.

The kind I mean are the shallow ones you can’t run fast enough to get away from, but they inch after you like a baby seal after a poacher: begging to be clubbed.

I need more lakes. More deep, life sustaining, inspirational, sit on its banks and let it be your muse lakes.

Wandering off the path I’ve found a few of late. A few I plan to visit with more regularity and more freedom to wander and wonder and let myself be taken over by. Lakes I can put my boat in and float and know I’ll be safe and see magical wonderful things…but it’s still hard to walk away from the puddles that hunger for your attention when you can hear them calling after you begging you to splash around in them just one more time.