(Lake Tahoe, west shore,
Labor Day 2025)

You are here—
me, too—
by the Big Blue

that is so cold…
(how cold is it?).
I remember two

little girls who grew
up next to what they
considered “their”

lake, who were long
ago brought to this
ginormous one

situated in a
equally ginormous
granite bowl

rimmed by pines.
They shivered as
their tender toes

curled in the brisk
cobalt water, feet
treading the stony

bottom, inching in
up to their knees,
quickly stumbling

out with numb soles.
“What good is a lake
if you can’t get in it?”

they demanded of
their amused parents
standing onshore.

Today we watch kids
and dogs and even
several grownups

wading, floating
in the Big Blue,
smiling, chuckling.

Even on this warming
planet, this lake is still
the second deepest

in the country, holding
37 trillion gallons of
mostly snowmelt that

never sees daylight,
only the top layer
barely sun-warmed.

Those brave folk?
“They must be
Europeans,” you say.

“Or from Alaska,”
I say, as we admire
their bravery,

an act of adventurous
souls who—in a
different way from us

timid landlubbers—
are making the most
of their Labor Day vacay.