Updated: Oct 9
The changes are startling and beautiful. From the blue, calm lake feathered with pink highlights late afternoon our first day, or the greenish-gray crashing waves yesterday after the storm, the lake is never and always the same place. We sit on the deck of our very-small (slightly bigger than a RV, Ken tells me) cabin, where
The neighbors are also friendly, so much so that we shared a double-grill feast last night with them, our friends Joe and Susan (in another cabin) and a large herd of roaming kids. We talked the economy, books, what strength of poison is necessary to spray on us to keep our skin from total mosquito immersion (and with 200% of the usual rainfall, the mosquitoes are fierce), God, the discovery of a fundamental particle that determines why objects have gravity, and whether Tom Cruise had it coming.
We also ate a lot of hot dogs, silver dollars (grilled foil packets of potatoes, onions and other vegetables), corn, potato chips, burgers, watermelon, s’mores and other outdoor vittles.
Today it’s off to hike along waterfalls, tiring our legs to match the good-ache we feel in our arms today from yesterday’s canoeing at full-speed to escape an approaching thunderstorm. Mostly, though, it’s watching this water watch us, at this moment golden and black in the clear sky’s sheen, and later, whatever it will turn into next.