Here's my 'D' entry:
Every sound soothed my frazzled soul: the gentle swells lapping against the row boat as it slipped along the lake’s surface; the hollow clunk of the oar when my inexperienced movements banged it against the craft’s aluminum side; the loon’s haunting song. I’d been in desperate need of this little excursion, to a place of childhood memories where I’d spent carefree summers before… well, before.
Another couple pulls of the oars and I steered the boat into what we kids had dubbed Beaver Bay. The inlet of water protected a cove where the reeds grew tall and beaver houses dotted the surface. I lifted the oars out of the water and twisted around to view the bay. The smell hit me, fetid and rank. My jaw dropped open.
Trash littered the shoreline. A mound of tires, black and baking in the afternoon sun, rose to the right. As the boat drifted closer, I looked over the edge. I could just make out my reflection, eyebrows knit and lips pursed, despite the rainbow sheen coating the water’s surface.
The boat’s bottom scraped along the sandy bottom of the shore. I stood to get a better view, but I wouldn’t get out. Flies swarmed around a torn white plastic trash bag next to the boat. I lifted an oar out of its pinning, staggering a bit under its unbalanced weight, and poked the bag. The flies lifted for a moment, but settled greedily on their meal. A soggy egg container fell apart, revealing a mass of wriggling, rice-like maggots. I covered my mouth, gagging, as the oar clattered to the bottom of the boat.
Any guesses? Leave me a comment telling me the emotion/feeling/state of mind you think I was describing. And please shoot over to Jessica's blog (LINK HERE) to my partner's paragraph. See you over there!
Thanks for reading!!