ECHO LAKE

4 3 R E C H O L A K E N I C H O L A S F R I E D M A N You hunker underneath a shaggy fir, shifting when sunlight shifts its bit of shade, and eat a single almond every hour. A fizzing galaxy of dark stars swarm the matted, still-wet grass where you were sick. ‘‘We’re gonna laugh when we look back at this,’’ you tell me. It’s a good thing there’s no mirror. Now and again, you stumble from the shade to retch. I take your pulse and check for service, but I know it’s useless. ‘‘Such a perfect place,’’ you say despite yourself. Out on the lake, cli√ swallows sketch the surface, then disappear into the granite ridge that cuts the light and tricks the distance into something near. ...