The Legend of the Lake
May 1st, 1933
8:00 AM
The sound of the wind whistles through the risen mainsail. It’s our first outing in May. The air is cool and tight. The fog blocks all visibility out on the lake. Only figures and blobs are to be seen, other than Andreas. Though we are next to each other, he is the helmsman for today. We switch every weekend. Last week was me, this week is him, and so on. Otherwise, we would always be bumping into each other.