Monday, July 11, 2011

Lake mornings

I fell asleep on the couch last night as I was reading The Master and Margarita*. It was earlier than I'd normally go to bed, so I was surprised to wake up to sunshine. It was early, but it's one of my favorite times of day (especially at the Lake). Most people are still asleep with dreams, and everything is serene for a little while.

I quickly make myself coffee because, well, that's what mornings were made for, grab my book just in case, and head out to the dock.

It's gorgeous out here. Quiet. I can hear birds arguing different symphonies. Occasionally, a boat drives across the lake, the motor muffled by the distance. I can't even hear the waves that make the dock dance.

I have time to reflect, to think. My question from last night comes back to me: what is love?** Isn't that the age old question? Yeah, I can recite all the answers, religious to new age and the average person's opinion on the street. I'm not going to come up with something new or better. Better to just be.

And so I just sit and bask in the calm that surrounds me, the nonexistent breeze, the glasslike water. This is possibly the most revitalizing part of my trip. The sun warms me out of my sweatshirt as I watch the unyielding mountains in the distance. Absently, I have noted only whisps of almost clouds in the sky. Today promises to be the nicest one yet.

I watch as a canoe glides through the water - silent and graceful. The teenager inside is uncharistically quiet. Fishermen trolling between the mainland and island finally disrurb the solitude. It's not their voices that float across the water, but rather the strains of old country songs. It's fitting, in a way.

Once they float beyond the corner of the island, the songs are lost, and the airwaves return to the birds. One lonely sandpiper walks along the shore, his stubby body bouncing up and down as he searches for food.

Finally, the spell is broken as the unnaturally quiet teenager meets up with a friend in the middle of the lake. David, as I come to find out, is/was the silent one. A race to a campsite ensues, only to end with one friend cheating by using the outboard motor to make up for his lack of muscles (or endurance).

And with that, the day has awoke. Boats are more frequent, cars pass on the road, and the occasional bang of construction echoes across the lake. The dock squeaks in protesr as ladge wavss jostle it, and the boaf splashes its agreement. I suppose I should rouse myself and go make breakfast, but the sun is seductive and I'm contemplating rescheduling my nap for right about now.

Just give me a minute to decide...with my eyes closed.

*A really good book by Mikhail Bulgakov. You should read it.

**Stemming from my book last night. To quote: I suddenly and completely unexpectedly realized this was the woman I had loved my whole life. Naturally, this is said of a woman he just met. And she agrees that they must have loved each other forever without knowing one another. Naturally.

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