Out for an evening paddle, I saw this beauty. Old summer cottages, I remember it so well. The musty-sweet scent of last summer that lingers on towels and wicker chair cushions. The lone dish rag still pinned to the porch clothesline. The ancient pepper tin rust-ringed on the unpainted kitchen shelf. We ate lunch from mismatched plates on the porch table, and raced down to the beach dragging a towel behind our skipping feet. My summers were spent at the ocean, and I see that lake cottages hold the same memories: summer shadows, cool mornings, and evenings playing board games on the porch.