The woman walked the makeshift path slowly, focusing her attention on the sound of the rake she dragged behind her. Autumn had made itself well known in the past few weeks, quickly cluttering the woods behind her home with mountains of soggy leaves and wet earth. Normally, it would have never reached this point, but the woman had put too much faith in the summer months to keep the well worn path clear for her family. Evidently, that was too much to ask. Now she was forced to clean up after her own laziness, spending a few long hours with the bitter wind cutting into her exposed cheeks and her hands aching as they clung to the handle of the old rake. It was tedious work, but it had to be done. A past incident that ended with a broken leg and a scarred lip still stuck her mind, making this task crucial to maintaining her own sanity. Still, she somehow enjoyed it. The work was quiet and peaceful, the surviving leaves looking magnificent as they waved gracefully in the wind and the chill filling her body with an energy she hadn’t had in a long time. What she enjoyed more, however, were the endless memories that seemed to pop up in her every step.
      The woods were theirs as decided by property lines and their neighbor’s indifference to the matter (She doubted that they were home long enough to even realize they had a backyard, let alone such a wide expanse of land.). They’d ended up with almost three or four acres worth of woods left for the family to explore, a task they gladly took on. Within months of moving in, they had created the path she walked down now, not to mention a large number of lesser worn paths that had since become ignored. The only reason this one stuck was the treasure at the end, a small lake hidden among the thickest trees of the forest. It soon became a trademark of their summers.They’d spend the season’s long days in the shade of the oak trees, washing away the warmth of the blistering sun in the cool water. They’d munch on wild berries and peanut butter sandwiches, identifying the wild plants that’d sometimes grow around it and doing their best to avoid the ones that irritated their skin. Her husband had taught every one of her children how to swim there while she took hundreds of pictures and videos on a cheap camera. When they were old enough, they hung the now infamous rope swing from one of the nearby trees. In the fall, her children would often argue how cold it really was outside, despite their blue lips and prickled skin telling her otherwise. They’d actually cry when the snow began to fall. It became the ultimate symbol of their family, a secret to all others. She’d made the mistake of telling her sisters about it once, immediately regretting it the minute they’d began to strip and run into to the water. The awful sight was punishment enough for her betrayal.
     The memories were becoming clearer as she moved closer to it, the unmistakable scent of fresh water and sand becoming stronger as she continued to drag her now filthy rake. She could almost hear her daughter squealing as one of her sons threaten to push her in, her husband scolding them as he put floaties on their youngest’s arms. They were white to match his bathing suit. Right before she rounded the corner, she touched their crooked sign. “Catrath Lake,” it read, named after eldest son’s slip of the tongue when trying to pronounce his sister’s name. It was almost completely faded now, the chalk merely a whisper on the wooden board. She gave the leaves behind her a strong pull and excitedly rounded the corner, dropping it when she was in the presence of the familiar lake. It was just as she remembered it, the deep blue water as smooth and quiet as glass. It was just as magnificent as the colorful trees around it. She moved closer, pausing when a twig cracked under her foot. She looked down at the damage and gasped slightly. Beneath her feet were a pile of cigarette butts and crushed beer cans, left behind by some unknown individual. She bent down and studied the damage. There were small halos of lipstick on a few of them, the same color her daughter was known for wearing. The others were unidentifiable. As for the beer cans, she already knew who those belonged to. They were found beneath one of her son’s beds a few months earlier. She stood back up quickly, her back feeling sore and weak as she straightened herself. The rope swing was still there, moving slowly in the wind. It had become frayed and looked more unreliable than ever, not that it was safe to begin with. But at least it had always looked new. Young. She shifted her eyes back to the water, soon becoming disappointed with the sight of that, also. Due to its disuse, algae had began to grow and become covered with a thick blanket of leaves and twigs, turning the water murky below it’s surface. It had been so clear in her mind. More memories began to flood her mind as she looked at her reflection. She remembered asking her son if he wanted to head down to the lake with her, to collect supplies for his favorite berry cobbler. She had to fight back  tears when she was rejected in favor of friends and grades. She saw herself arguing with her daughter the first time she saw her in a bikini. She saw the mysterious flashlights, those belonging her children and strangers, moving across the wet grass and large trees as she gazed out her bedroom window. She saw her husband on the phone for long hours, back turned as they splashed along. She began to back away, leaving the hazardous leaves in their place.  They’d been there first, after all.

     The walk home was easier than she had imagined, instinct guiding her to her back door with little effort. Inside, her daughter, Catherine, sat on the couch, phone in one hand and boyfriend in the other. They were giggling at something on the television, staring at the screen with glazed eyes. Normally, she’d be confronting her about her discoveries, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She just wasn’t angry enough.
      “Hello,” the woman said, sinking into the recliner next to the couple. “Nice to see you, Peter. Did I miss anything?”
      “Not really.” Her daughter didn’t pull her eyes away. “Oh, wait. Ethan called. He said everything was going alright but he’s freaking out about midterms. Again.” She waved her hand at his picture on the wall. He was wearing his cap and gown, smiling broadly as his dad stood on his toes to put his arm around his son’s shoulders. The scar on his lip was almost completely faded. “Also Dad called, but didn’t talk long. He wants us to visit him soon.”
     “I see,” the woman said, leaning back. “Where are your brothers?”

     “Paul’s upstairs and Luke is out somewhere.”
     “Probably with Rachel,” Peter said, pulling his girlfriend closer and giving her a quick peck on the cheek. They’d been dating for almost two years now, but both understood graduation would be the stopping point. Maybe.
      “Hey, mom,” her youngest said as he ran down the stairs and threw on his coat. It was a deep black and glossy leather, a Christmas gift from their father a few years ago. “Do you want me to rake the driveway?”
      She stared at him for a moment before standing up and stretching her still sore back until it felt normal again. She caught herself in the mirror behind the couch, taking in her rosy cheeks and gray-speckled, windblown  hair. Her normal pale skin had taken on youthful glow she’d doubted she had in the first place. She looked good, alive.
       “No, Just, don’t worry about it. They’re okay where they are.”