The green astroturf at the end of the pier shines. It glows in the afternoon sun. It is surprisingly cool, until you press your hand deeper into the blades of plastic. You can feel the warmth around your fingers. If you press all the way down, you can feel that the base is warm. The grass returns to form more slowly than the natural variety, and finally goes upright after you’re well within the shade of the cool room.

        They’re running off of the pier, the grass flattens and begins to unflatten between steps, and the splash arcs water onto the astroturf. The wet blades are rising as the pair tread the dark water of the lake, their voices under a few clouds with green mountains all around. The grass warms in the sun and the moisture begins to evaporate. Everyone towels off next to wind chimes and goes inside. Someone returns to close the door, which was inadvertently left open. There’s a satisfying click of the latch. The green grass at the end of the pier stands upright, is completely dry, and is warm to the touch.