I lean back against a young pine tree and gaze at the blue sky. It is a blue you would expect to see in an over-contrasted photograph, or in the eyes of a newborn baby. It’s a surreal color that tickles my imagination; I feel content.

The ponderosa pines to my left and right sway with the wind, dancing in the sky. I look around the lake to the far end. Purple mountaintops line the horizon. They surround the lake as if to cuddle it, keep it safe, keep it hidden.

Out on the water, away from the edge, gusts of wind disturb the deep blues and brilliant emeralds of the cold water and distort the green and brown landscape reflections.

Up close, I can see the bottom at twenty feet or so. Currents move sand into intricate designs on the floor. Rock mosaics decorate the floor, too, not to be outdone by the sand. Mother Nature is always busy.

I close my eyes and try to hold on to what I have seen. I can’t do it. My imagination isn’t up to the reality of this unique place. I wonder—my eyes still closed—is this paradise lost? Is it a place thousands of miles deep in forbidden, uncharted territory? I open my eyes. No, its simply Saturday morning on Lake Tahoe, my home.   -----By Greg Schumacher.