I was alone.
The campers, there so long, were gone without a trace.
The Eagle was gone; it may have been out of sight in the deepening sky.
The Loons were gone; they may have been in open water scanning the sky.
I carried no camera; Lidia had it, framing and fixing memories of a campout with her friends.
So you weren't there either.
Just me, the living lake, a hot day burning down to twilight, trout like glowing embers in my hands, and a long, slow cooling into the summer dark.
And nothing left but the afterglow of memory.