Swimming to the Rock

My father and brothers are swimming to the Rock. “Come with us!” they call to me and I say, “Maybe next year.” The Rock is very, very far away. I sit on the dock with my peanut butter sandwich. I watch them dive into the water and swim into the distance their kicks and splashes and elbows getting smaller and smaller as they near the Rock. It takes them a long, long time. They arrive and pull themselves to stand and wave their arms in the air. I can't see it but I know their hands are in fists. I can't hear it but I know they are cheering. Even the loons call to celebrate their arrival! I sit on my dock dangling my feet in the water counting dragonflies. My father and brothers come closer and from the water lift their faces with wild wet smiles And I think This year!