Story Cafe

Nothing is decadent quite like summer. The grass flosses your toes, and a great oak tree provides as your umbrella. The sound of water gently laps against some shore, at the same pace that would be adopted by a worker who, bored with their job, tosses a tennis ball between them self and a concrete wall. Overhead the clouds give the illusion of silver linings that carve out of the fluff figures and faces. If a goose flies by, it goes silently, and its shadow skims over the playing children. The children catch water in dams made of smooth dark lake rocks. Coyly, they ease themselves into the blue-green water, and wade. The sun peeks down shyly to dry those idling on their stomachs in the grass. One such is a boy with the name Adam embroidered onto the back of his swim trunks. Adam’s mother brings him to the lake during the weekend; it is an hour’s drive from their home in Rose City, Michigan to Saint Helen Lake.

This is my first post on this site. I hope I am not making a mistake by posting this, but it seems that I am in the right place.
What do you think of the paragraph above? I want to write a story starting with that. Does it make sense and flow to you?
Thanks so much! Anything is appreciated.
-Mike Blane