Rachel Sherman

Scenery

A beautiful evening. The lake is swallowing itself back. Most of the birds are
starlings. Most of the grasses are phragmites. Most of the runners are panting.
When you approach the water, you’ll lose your foot to something murky, and
you’ll remember something terrible about algae. The needle-pitched swarm
of flies will have you tilting. The panicky pleas of killdeer will have you
defensive. You’ll recall standing here to read the eulogy. It really was an
excellent eulogy. At the junction, just before you turn back home, you’ll see
an old man with binoculars pressed against his glasses. You’ll want to tell him
about the heron at the end of the path. Don’t they look strange there, a
dinosaur crammed into an oval, the way they can hold absolutely still,
waiting an eternity for one excellent fish.