Scott Swanson
It’s 6:30 in the morning and the summer sun has yet to rise over Foster Lake.
Below the Shea Point rest area, where the old Highway 20 blacktop dips into the water, a lone man performs tai chi as the sky to the east grows pink. The lake’s surface ripples. There’s a little chop.
From the direction of Foster Dam, to the west, a series of soft splashes become audible, interspersed with an…