The water in the lake was perfect and I had stayed in too long, but finally surrendered and began the long, sad task of closing the summer house. It was supposed to take a hour or so but took so much longer; all of the furniture had to be put back into place, animals shooed away and there were weeds growing up through the oven into the kitchen. All the while I read over two essays, both of which lost focus in the middle, and kept my eye on the TV and The Beatles reunion where Lennon played on despite being crushed beneath his piano. It was a melancholy song, one I had never heard before, and got back to what had to be done, until everything was in the boat and we set sail, back for the city.