7 Mar

Each hour brought us closer, and each minute shedded city grime. The roads became windier and the wind purer. Time slid away. Our visions, suddenly filled by trees, were startling. It drizzled, coating our jackets. But it was exhilerating. Our paddles slipped into the water as we propelled closer toward the island. It was small, in the distance, until we crept closer. Now we could feel the deep greens and make sense of the rocks and logs and coves. The tip of the canoe slid into sand, and we stepped out. In the fog of a morning sunrise, I heard loons across the lake. I felt stillness so soft, so lovely and soothing, it rippled throughout my entire being in waves. Submerged in the lake, we swam. The smooth rocks beneath our toes, the mother duck with her brood of ducks, the undulating sea-weed, they too, swam in delicious water. The roads widened and the trees lessened as we drove home toward a Buffalo skyline, gray in the nearing distance, hot in the summer afternoon. As from a dream, I wondered if my visions, if my purity of thought and sensation were true. They were. And I decided someday I would live in that place.


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