On the Lake

The sky is blue, soft white clouds drifting lazily overhead in the early morning sky. It is calm, with the occasional soft warm breeze wafting over the lake, and through the trees. The water is almost perfectly still, reflecting the morning sun like a mirror. Leaves on the trees are bright green, blending with the darker shrubs at their feet, and the grass at the water's edge, their sister images fanning out away from them across the water. There, at the shoreline, are the rocks, sand and logs, in a mosaic of natural sculpting.

As I listen, I hear only the faintest rustle in the leaves, and a symphony of morning birds, frogs, and the haunting call of the loon.

Nature, in it's perfection, is laid out before me, marred only by the soft, silent ripples on the lake as my canoe glides through it; the rhythmic, lazy noise of my paddle as it cuts into the water and pushes me slowly forward.

I am in no hurry, eager to drink in the sights, sounds and scents of the picture before me, I take a deep breath of the clear fresh air and sigh in satisfaction. Time is nonexistent and the busy life is far away. I am at one with nature, and at peace with my soul.