During the day yesterday waves raced out of the southwest, and there were whitecaps on the water. By late afternoon the clouds and rain had passed, and sunlight glinted off gently swelling waves.
The late summer evening sunset was remarkable.
Today there is barely a breeze on the face of the deep, and a spirit verily hovers on the face of the water. A reflection of the forest on the western shore is smeared in various hues of green, pulled toward a shore of cattails and lily pads.
In the shallows beside the dock, a Bluegill just darted out of the shadows chased by a Bass. Beyond the drop-off, ripples just radiated from where a fish snapped at flea-flies who ventured too close. And a Great Blue Heron just launched itself out of hiding in the cluster of swamp roses near the dock, flapping its wings in prehistoric fashion, startling a fish offshore who (perhaps unwisely but in the event harmlessly) jumped.
Two nights ago tree fell in the woods. You couldn’t help but hear it. There was a snap, a creaking groan and then a clamorous crash. It was an Oak, and its trunk snapped far above the forest floor. A tree equal to its girth 30 feet up would have been a prize in any yard. Its wet dark green foliage now lies on the ground, mingled with that of Maples and Pines and Sassafras that it destroyed in its demise.
The new hole in the canopy beckons to seedlings
and White Pinelings
and a nearby Beech that has been waiting decades for just this eventuality.
Perhaps you think I seek to taunt you with this, to stir feelings of envy. And perhaps it would just make things worse to tell you of the Robin in the trees by the lake’s edge sweetly singing to some far away partner in song. And of the Mourning Doves. And of the Peewee. And the Titmouses flitting in the branches of the White Pine trees.
But I am not trying to tease. I am just trying to tell you how it is up here on this lake in this woods on this marvelous, sunny day that I wish would never end.