After lunch I was invited on a trip to Pyramid Lake, about fifty miles north of the city. In a landscape of chalky, dusty colours there sat a beautiful body of water like a small sea – deep blue with proper waves – backed by the inevitable mountain range. Sagebrush had been uprooted by wind or wave and deposited on the nearside shore; pale, almost bone-white, the dead plants shone in the sun. The bright intensity of the lake contrasted with the surrounding powdery tones of stone and sand. A lone tree grew, with tender spring leaves and terracotta trunk. I loved the lake. I explored around it, went for a sundown supper, and made my way happily back to the motel to find that the party of senior citizens had gone completely and inexplicably rampant.

Pyramid Lake, Nevada