Whose lake? God’s? Ours? If there’s no apostrophe, so says DNR, is there ownership? Maybe we hold it in trust for the old gods—the ones who didn’t feel the need to say they would come again. Will they be angry at petty squabbles over walkways and rockwalls and aluminum docks? Will it be enough to see kids splashing on the sandbar? Adults on buoyant chairs drinking boxed wine? Music and smiles and volleyball tournaments? Ask yourself just that the next time you watch dark clouds, the peculiar green of a healing bruise, rolling in over Devils Lake [no apostrophe].

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