The Pictures We Don't Take.

In this moment, I have no camera and I long for one. One that will soak up the sounds, the smell and the sight of what I am living.

Her bleached blonde hair is pulled back in braids and she wears a dress, blue and black flowers on white, that flows in the breeze as we walk along the waters edge.

The water beats against the sand. The wake is rough from the boats and jet skis out on the lake.

"I be right back," she tells me as she starts walking into the lake. I know that it will be moments and she will be drenched.

The water beats against her legs and slowly the edge of her dress. She raises her dress so that all one can see are her two toothpick legs and some Dora underpants and sure enough, the wake knocks her down.

She laughs. "I all wet," she says grinning as she stands up.

I tell her it's ok that it's sunny, warm and that she'll dry.

She sees the ducks and heads out of the water. Soon her wet body and dress are covered with sand. So she goes back to the water, rinsing off and goes out again. Three times over. The ducks are gone by now, she's scared them away.

She stands, half sandy, still drenched and grabs my hand to start walking towards the docks. I look down at our feet as we walk. Her flip flops are on the wrong feet and between the wrong toes but she doesn't mind. Her dress drips water as she walks and I squeeze the back of it to wring it out.

"Don't do that," she says, the wispy hair not tucked into the braids floats around her face.

It's right now where I want to click, click, click on the camera. I am overwhelmed and see this picture and want it forever.

And that's when I close my eyes willing myself to remember what I couldn't take a picture of.

{Thoughts from Gull Lake. Monday afternoonish.}