Stepping into the small closed-in gazebo; I strike up a match and begin to light the various candles and lantern inside, as the sun is quickly beginning to set.  I sit in the old wood-and-leather rocking chair; one of a set of two that my parents purchased in Costa Rica.  The other chair is beside me, but it is empty, except for the wool, patterned blanket – from Mexico – that is draped over top.  Once comfortable, I lean forward to pick up my book from the little coffee table.  As I stretch forward, I can feel my teeshirt pull away from my damp skin.  It is a hot summer, and I wear a tee and shorts every day to maximize comfort.  Resting the book in my lap before opening it, I can hear the loons calling from the lake.  "Hello?" they might be saying; or maybe "Boat!"  Listening very, very carefully, I can hear the gentle croaking of the frogs from their home in the little lily-bay just off the point of our beach.  I slump further into the supple leather straps that make up the chair, and I forget about the book in my hand, loosening my grip on it.

            The house, about fifty feet away, is quiet.  I arrived home a few hours ago to an empty home.  My parents are away again, in Greenland this time.  Emily now lives in South River with her family, and Natalie is off in Newfoundland.  I did expect to maybe run into our cook, Greg, or one of the outtripping guides, maybe Alexis or Opal.  I wasn't too thrown off by the silence, except for the sound of nature, surrounding me.  I rather enjoy these nights alone; when I can eat a potful of Kraft Dinner and watch a movie in peace.  Tonight, however, I felt the desire to sit outside just after sunset and read my book by candlelight.  I lean my head back so that it slopes down and rests behind the back of the chair.  Deciding to listen to the loons, rather than my intended reading, I break away from my newfound position to place the book back on to the table.  Sitting here, I have time to think about my family.  I hope nothing has gone wrong with my parents; I would hate it if they came back sick from the glacier food or something like that.  Food.  I realize I want food.  I decide that when I'm ready to go back inside, I will make that Kraft Dinner right away.  That's exactly where I'll want to be.  I have nothing else to do tonight but relax and enjoy myself.

            I sit up and stretch my feet out as far along the ground as they'll go.  I wish I knew how long mom and dad would be gone for.  I think they might plan to spend a couple days in Windsor when they get back to Canada.  They will fly into Detroit; I just don't know when.  I breathe in the warm scent of the moist summer air, and I smell the pine needles and flowers outside.  I smell the lakewater, and the lilies floating in the little bay.  The frogs are still croaking from that direction, and now I can hear the soft sound of somebody on a nighttime canoe ride.  Swish.  Plop.  Swish.  A repeating pattern, every so often the sound of wood brushing against wood thrown in, as the paddle hits the canoe.  The sun has now set completely, and the stars are beginning to twinkle brightly above the water.  Deciding I am ready to go inside; I uncurl myself from my position on the chair, and prepare to take my leave of the gazebo.  Blowing out the candles one at a time, I pause for a moment in the smoky darkness to breathe in my surroundings.  Opening the door with my right hand, I hear the never-failing creak of the springs that allow the door to close automatically.  Stepping outside onto the soft, green grass, I notice the lights of a car moving up the driveway.