Cruising the lake on our yacht, we’re reading from WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE, by Maurice Sendak.

And in their inactivity forests grew

and grew until the ground was covered with weeds

and the greenery became the world all around.

And after riding through it for days, a great body of water tumbled by, with a private boat for us.

Then we sailed off through the night and day, to where only the wild things are.

And when we dropped anchor at the place where only the wild things are, the falls roared and the waves rolled onto the beach and crashed with a frothy foam.

And we surfed our paddleboards onto the beach, but the wild nature could not be tamed, so we loved it.

“And now,” cried Tong, “Let the wild rumpus start!”