I told my mother not to worry and she never did, as mothers do, because these were big summer drops and our toes in the sand digging in deeper and deeper still. Her hemp sandals stayed at the bottom of the dunes, underneath a tree with her bag and leather journal, my shirt, too. The dunes dropped off quick on the other side, steep into the forest and we had rolled down hours before and spent the whole evening feeling the sand cool under us as the sun went down. Now it rained and rained more and we crept closer to the tree trunks to, well, not to stay dry, we certainly weren’t that, and not warm, as the drops were bath water, but we clang to the trunks none the less. The dune was easier to climb then now that the water had stiffened the sand some and we made our way up to the top with ease. She spread out her arms wide and I watched her and the lake as the waves picked up with the wind.