Hay Lake morning

I arise on camp time, my body awakening with the dawn, my eyes longing for the water.  I must admit, however, that my skin is quite happy for the warmth it received upon opening the door of the unheated bedroom (our choice) to the rush of heat in the kitchen, rather than the blast of cold rain that would be greeting it this paeticular day if I were pulling back the fly of our tent. This lodge is indeed a peaceful place to ‘come home to’.

My friend is also awake. It may have been her coffee brewing as much as my internal clock that awakened me. She sits in the chair behind me, her eyes, like mine, cast softly outward upon the framed view. It is good to be silent together, in one another’s presence without busy-ness, which can often be the routine of the morning while camping, with its myriad chores. Shelter can in some ways make stillness simpler, though at the distinct cost of distance from the immediacy of the earth. Though I can glimpse a portion of the water passing by the window, can detect the faint chirp of a bird, my senses are far removed from the landscape. Still, there is a quietness here to my soul.

There is a great birch with its limbs arching over the dock, like a child reaching across to his friend in a game of London Bridge. I realize I have never been in this place when the birches are in full leaf. We typically visit either before they have leafed out in the spring or after leaf fall in the autumn. I can imagine them now, bright green and fluttering, filtering softly the high summer sun, or dressed in the yellows of autumn, framing the blue of the water and sky and that far ridge beyond, aflame with the farewell of maples. I long to be here throughout the long season, to watch it unfold and fold.

I picture myself sitting at a similar window, overlooking the birch-framed view of Deer Lake, where there is a cottage for sale that we have been considering. Her window is so close to the water, I imagine it opening in summer to the sounds and the scents of the lake.  Last week when we visited, the land behind her was alive with trout lilies and dutchman’s breeches, trillium and spring beauties. That makes me want to see what might unfold there next?  How might the silence unfold for me there? Would there be still, quiet hours in which I might find my own rhythm, my voice?

This morning that feels so right to me….and so I can be almost assured that my husband will have come to the exact opposite conclusion. (I was correct in that estimation, by the way). We swing that way, in perpetual counter balance, it seems. Things seem to have eased between us with the lessening of the physical stress for him, though my body is already longing for more.  I don’t know how this (creative?) tension between us will evolve and resolve over time, but by the nature of things, I trust that it will.

This morning, this moment, I breathe in joy.

I exhale peace.

I breathe in beauty.

I exhale contentment.

For now, this is enough.



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