Lake Morning

lake morning

I awake gently to the sounds of silence.
There is light already, albeit faint, and a part of me nudges towards a return to sleep.
I lay still for a few moments, my only movement my blinking eyes. As I wait.

There it is – the first chirp or twitter of a smallish critter.
The world is rising so I will too.

Slowly, stealthily, I slide myself from the bed, collecting my bits and bobs as I move, stepping carefully to avoid the creaking spots on the floor and stairs.
Downstairs, I move more freely, but still on tip-toes,
Washing, dressing, stealing glances out the window, glimpses of the lightening sky and calm lake.

I put on my favourites, my familiars.
Warm socks, worn jeans, a few layers on top, ending with the faded green canvas shirt, sleeves rolled.
Hair in a ponytail.

With controlled haste and as quietly as possible – eager to get going now – I make my tea – boiling, warming, steeping, sweetening, stirring.
But not tasting, not sipping, not yet.

With mug in hand and feet in shoes, I exit out the back, holding the door to gently close.

No longer on tip-toes, but still moving carefully, I make the first impressions on the dew.
It’s cool – not see your breath cold, but enough for the tea to steam.
A slight shiver as a damp blade of grass pokes under my pant leg, touching bare skin.
I move across the lawn and around the side for the first look at the lake.
A sigh and a smile.

More critters are up and about now – chattering and chirruping as they get underway.
Perhaps are telling each other, “She’s back”.

Around the front now and down to the deck, stepping carefully to make minimal noise amongst the morning sounds.
I stand for a bit, looking here and there across the water.
The sun is up now, not fully seen over the trees and hills, but bringing the brightness of pink and yellow to the fringes of the sky.

I sit – on the top step, on the bench, on a stump or convenient chair – resting arms on knees, cradling my mug.
At last, I take my first sip of tea, and add my sigh of contentment to the sounds of the day.

Lazy morning regattas of loons and ducks and geese move on the water, without pattern but with purpose.
I watch as one two three more dive under, for breakfast or scouting out lunch for later.
I try in vain to spot them pop back up here and there.
Around and behind me is the scrabbling and scratching of the squirrels, and the occasional flutter of wings as a morning bird swoops by.

In this green, green place, listening to the melodies and harmonies of birds and wee beasts, I’m conscious and consciously grateful for things lacking.

Noise noise noise noise noise – none of it. No cars, buses or motorcycles. No lawn mowers, pressure washers, trimmers, clippers.
No imperative to do or go or be.
No need of distraction or occupation or talk.
No voices near or far – no human ones, anyway (as I’m sure the squirrels and songbirds sounds are voices of a kind).
My mug is nearly empty, the cool dregs more suited to gulping than sipping.
The sky has brightened, and the morning symphony reaches its crescendo, with the early breeze rustling the leaves and needles in a flourish to end the dawn and start the day.
The mirror surface of the lake now gone, replaced by ruffled ridges of blue green grey and the occasional taunting trout leaping in the sun.

I hear the patio door slide open, enough for egress, a footstep on the deck.
I pause, and gaze around once more at the lake and trees and sky.
Another sigh and smile, the day has begun.
I turn to say, “Good morning, love”. And I see you.

27 May 2014

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