The Boathouse

Half built on the shore and half on stilts sunk into the lake, the boathouse creaks and sighs with every ripple. Inside, the light is dim and shifting, reflected up off the water that slaps against the pilings beneath the slatted floor. A couple of rowing boats bob in the open bay, tied to iron rings, while oars, nets and old lifebelts hang from hooks along the walls.

A rickety ladder leads up to a small loft beneath the eaves, where someone once left a blanket, a lantern and a stack of mouldering novels. The wide doors at the front open back onto the stones of Shingle Beach.