Ron’s Foil

image source: google images

Midday in the autumn season brought out the best of the color palette found on Lake Chetawnee. The cool deep blues of the mountains provided a lovely backdrop for the bright burnt oranges and reds of the forest lining the silver lake. The trees, rooted in deep maroons, lightened as they shot upwards into bright orange and were tipped with yellow. The shores bled into their reflections atop the translucent icy lake. Ron broke a chunk of ice blocking the bow of his canoe and paddled further out so as to take in the entirety of his view. Just behind the front lines of the trees on the western portion of the shore lay an empty meadow of land where he had built his cabin. A small, two room abode, it provided him with just enough space for himself and his companion, a six-year old border collie named Sheila. After the death of Ron’s wife of 50 years, Jenae, he had decided to live out the rest of his days away from people and their petty needs and incessant whines. His children, though well-off with grown children of their own, hardly called or visited him since her death, incidentally six years ago as well. After a depressing funeral full of people he hardly knew and arguments with all his children, he had decided modern society was not the place for him without Jenae, who had been the more social of the pair. Ron was snapped out of his thoughts from a thrashing sound coming from the water near the pier. A hand broke through a piece of ice and Rob sprung into action, thrashing desperately against the chunks surrounding him. As he circled around the churning waters, Ron thrust his hand in, grabbing a fistful of jacket and used all his strength to pull a sputtering, shivering young man into the canoe. 

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing son?” he boomed through his breathlessness. The boy coughed up some water before turning to face Ron, a sheepish smile on his face. Ron’s eyes widened as the boy finally croaked, “Oh hey, grandpa.”