It wasn’t this sky but one like it, nearly cloudless in a different way, the water its own color of Lake Superior blue and calm in a masquerade that invites cowards to dream of long distance swimming, going all the way from here to Canada with perfect strokes, barely rippling the water, so still and unbroken was the surface that there could be no mistaking that what I was seeing was real, the blue created for this one moment that would be lost in the telling, unbelievable as it was, better a secret kept, the soaring flock of white pelicans.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mouth Drop.”

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