The Girl By The Lake

I am the girl by the lake.  Sitting by the shore on a late summer afternoon; the treetops glow golden green in the sunlight above, but down here there is shade, and cool.  The first fringes of night.  And there’s a bite in the air: the first waves of autumn.
It’s strange that I remember this.  It’s strange that I recall the feel of the earth under me; the breeze playing with my hair.  I remember the water lapping gently, the insects dipping onto the surface, leaving their tiny ripples; and the occasional plop of fish tempted by the hovering snacks.
It’s strange, because reality tells me I was never this person.  My real memories say some rather different things.  The place… well, I’ve seen the place before. I’ve lived quite close to it, so that’s consistent enough.  What’s out of place is the viewer.
I am the girl by the lake.  But I wasn’t.
The same place, but a different person; a different time, different light, a different feel in the air.  The same lake; the same trees; a different sky.  The scene is alien, but still so very familiar; so very comforting.
Who is she, this girl by the water’s edge?  I know her, because I am her.  I know the skin, the hair; I know the face that looks back from the water.  I know the breath, the blood, the heart.  She’s me, absolutely me.  And I know the peace, and I know the desire, and the curiosity; and I know the fear, and the anger, and the regret.
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