On a rainy afternoon, I drove out to Buntzen Lake. I had a few frames left on a roll of film and was looking for somewhere to spend them.
I wound my way through the mountainside neighbourhood; upwards I climbed while the engine groaned until the road evened out and trees swallowed it whole. Rain fell from the branches in fat drops that popped on the windshield. The wiper blades whined across the glass.
Walking along the lake, I listened to two old men talk about the coming weather. Rain echoed on the surface of the water. I did not know what I was looking for, but I knew I had not found it yet.
As I turned to take a forest path, I took one last glance behind me. A single boathouse floated silently under the drifting clouds; its reflection slowly shimmered like a dream. I exposed the final few frames and headed home, swaggering like a hunter with their prize.