None of this ever happened

It’s Wednesday morning and the good news is that the world has been swallowed by Mackinac Bay. At least that’s as well as we can tell from here. The bay is glassy and serene enough to see the rowboat tied to the dock and her mirror with perfect clarity.

The bulrushes thirty feet away are less distinct, more like dreamy representations of what bulrushes might look like if they preceded the gates of heaven. Beyond them? Nothing. Just soft grey light forever. It’s as if there never was a Hessel Point, a Lone Susan Island or even Aunt Mimi’s across the creek.

As far was we can tell from here, this is the new end of the world. Sure you could sail a ship from the dock, but you might as well just plan to to sail straight to Valhalla. Leave your map, your compass and ropes to dock here in port. There’s no need of them in the eternal driftbeyond the bulrushes. .

The two swans appear as if by magic from the limbo ahead and do not pause by the cabin dock to beg any of the Finnish Coffee Bread I am eating in memory of Grandmother Linda, as I have eaten at this wooden table she stained and shellacked, for every year of my life, thus far. The swans glide straight past and into the mouth of the creek that separates the Ed Rudds from the three sisters: Uldene, Collene, & Audrey, all named Rudd before their (rather unfortunate in Nana’s mind) marriages. And while the creek is beyond the purview of this reporters investigation (that is, to verify or deny its ongoing existence, just beyond the window pane it rests), the entreee of the swans draws our attentinon to the rather surprising revelation that indeed FOG is drifting with great speed and regularity out of the creek.

Alternate explanations appear:

Perhaps the lake was not swallowed by eternity, nor has the lake swallowed the remainder of the universe, but perhaps the Universe has been cleverly eroded by the gods of the creek who have cleverly devised a spell by which they might numb and slowly erase all the world except (apparently) themselves, the creek, and we four who dwell here at the cabin. It occurs to me that I haven’t yet confirmed that the dark thick woods behind the cabin remain, but its hardly likely that any humans dwell within the thick scratchy confines of that terrain.

Very likely the swans were appointed as representatives of the commission on behalf of Fowl and Fish Erosion at the Outer Reaches of the Universe to go and make an inquiry on behalf of the rest who mostly drift in limbo before me. As if to reinforce this theory, a large fish struggles across a too shallow pass twenty yards from the dock. He has no business swimming in these shallows, but when the Universe is disappearing elsewhere. Things come to rather desperates tate of affairs.

Meanwhile Lynn, Addison and Jaelyn seem to be enjoying a lovely sleep-in this morning. I don’t begrude it them at all.