In the frigid I sat in one of my favorite spots in which I had forgotten about. In my youth I spent hours here. It was never empty, even in the winter you could find teens walking the car path, even though it was closed, in search of the bench that overlooked Honeoye Lake, watching the sunset and doing whatever teenagers did.
I now sit in this spot, watching the sunset, in the quiet, as all the teenagers who once grew up in this place, are now grown and have forgotten about the bench and the sunset in which they spent most of their time.
Without getting to the spot by car, it is a good walk through the wooded trees to get there. During the daylight hours the trees stand still, the bushes do not make any noise because you do not notice it. The slight movement of footsteps on the gravel and birds singing in secret spots in the trees are the only sounds that can be heard by the ears. Although walking to the exit at dark unleashes an entirely new set of noises, with which I was familiar. The trees tapped amongst one another in the wind that always seemed to be there in the dark, even on the calmest of nights; the bushes violently shook with whatever animal hid within its coverage, and your footsteps hitting the gravel always seemed to pick up its pace in fear of what is lurking.
The bench seemed older than I remembered. Its smooth wood finish was pealing, causing cracks, making the once comfortable and familiar, unpleasing to rest upon. There were the same old carvings amongst its posts, mostly initials surrounded by the heart of couples who are more than likely not together anymore and the same old cursing’s that were left by people who thought it would be cool. Although there were some fresh ones too drawn on in black sharpies, making the inactive park feel more lively.
I sat on the stiff bench for a while, watching the sun completely fall, and the moon slowly rise, which was as beautiful as I remembered. The sky painted its beautiful rainbow colors over its lake which was empty and quiet besides the few flocks of geese the obnoxiously flew over, disturbing the sky’s peace. The lake slightly reflecting the colors hues making its light blue appear more pink.
During the summer days, the lake will be filled with boats of people who are fishing, occasionally hearing cheers of the people down below who caught a big one. During its spring months the lake is forgotten and still, making its top layer of water appear to be glass, without any sudden movement. I had never actually felt the silence of the lake until now, usually the crowd of teenagers, that once was me, brought in their own noises. The typical teenage music filled the woods, along with the laughter of people who called themselves friends.
Although this place was a distant memory of mine, it is not entirely forgotten. The pieces of trash surrounding the lookout area and the benches deteriation shows that people still come to sit over the lake. Some hoping for the deep reconnection with the power of its beauty and others hanging out with their friends.