A summer ritual. Saturday night at the camp. Garrison Keillor on the radio (I try to pretend he's not the asshole everyone says he is). Some exquisite Jeff concoction on the grill. A gin and tonic. The smell of sauna smoke in the cool evening air. These nights make me sane. They've been the same all summer and every summer, plus or minus a Jeff or a gin and tonic. The early summer fire was contained thanks to a sudden wind switch. I can still spend the evening staring at the lake. She mesmerizes me. Grandpa is right--damn thing looks different every night. Once the sun goes down and there's no more lake to look at, I shed my clothes and walk to the sauna. I shed my impurities there. I steam the rocks until I can't bear it anymore and my eyes uncontrollably squint shut. I steam the rocks until it hurts to breathe and my senses begin to confuse themselves with fiction. I steam the rocks until I have to jump from the top bench, run out the door, through the blueberry patch, down the beach and into the cold Superior water. She sends me into a euphoria, an inexplicable high. My naked body works through her clarity, purifying, numbing. I look up and marvel at the brilliance of northern skies at night. My vision is endless. I step out of her. Naked. Unashamed. Hands on hips I stand at the water's edge and breathe. Breathing never felt so pure. I drift back to the sauna and repeat the ritual until she wears me out.