Up North

The call of the loons woke me up this morning, accompanied by the slapping of the lake water against the hull of the boat down at the dock. The sun was cracking the edge of the horizon and on July 11 at 5:00 am it was 48 degrees. That's Farenheit, folks.

When I'm in the city I don't, quite frankly, 'get' the idea of - load up the car, sit in traffic for an hour and a half just to get out of the metro, then drive another 3 hours just to get ' to the cabin'. Then there's the mowing and taking down that dead tree and basically taking care of an entire second property. And this is supposed to be rest? Just seems like doubling the workload with a lot more bugs.

And yet, there is something inexplicably quiet in the sound of the wind, the slapping of the water, the call of the loons.