Place Freewriting

I am at a small lake near my old house.

I close my eyes -- my nostrils flare.  A smile flickers across my face.  Honeysuckle is growing nearby.  It's sweet fragrance perfumes the air.  I can smell the soft earthy smell of the dirt underneath me.  A breeze plays across the water, bringing with it the mixed smells of the water and the geese that live in it.  The breeze feels good on my skin.  It is cooled by the water.  The air is warm, though the shade from the tree above me also helps to mute the heat.

The soft sound of the water breaking against the shore pulses through me.  I can hear the traffic from the street nearby.  It is one of the few things that reminds me that this place is in the middle of a busy neighborhood.  One of the local geese flaps its wings.  The water flies off of its oily feathers and splashes back into the larger body of water.  Their honks fill the air as they converse with one another.

My eyes open slowly and I am momentarily blinded by the bright sun reflecting off of the water.  I blink the tears out of my eyes and look around.  The picnic table I sit at is the only place to sit on other than the grass. There are a few fisherman that chose that option.  They sit silently at the edge of the water hoping for a bite.  The geese have noticed me.  The waddle slowly towards the picnic table, hoping that I have brought them back more bread.  I cannot be the only one that does so, for they have no fear of humans.  They literally crawl over my feet in the rush to find their bread.  I laugh, but have to show them my empty hands.  One over-eager one nibbles at my fingers.  Deciding that they are not edible, the flock waddles back to the water.  I lean back and prop up my elbows on the table.  I could sit here all day.