My Walden

6 o’clock in the morning — late Summer
7 o’clock in the evening — late Summer

Day after day the skyline paints itself anew. The contours of the forested ridges are the unchanging backdrop for fresh coats of color, moods, and weather. It is my own Walden. Mt. Spokane watches over us to the north, flanked by Granite Peak, and buttressed by Ragged Ridge. Idaho cradles us to the east, and our peninsula weaves the backbone of the shore where I breathe.

Within this pond of stillness I’m able to really listen to the birds. When an eagle flies by, I hear the beat of the wings like the sound of Lady Kitty’s hyperventilating laughter. I look up to take in the magnificence. Out in the kayak a gaggle of Canada geese fly overhead, low, looping back for a second pass. Their combined noisy flight mechanics suggest they could use a can of WD40. Landing nearby they skid to stop on the water like a fleet of float planes… Kssssshhhhhhh!

Surrounded by mixed conifer forest, juncos hide in plain view providing musical accompaniment with nuthatches on backup. A Northern harrier skims the marsh, flashing it’s white banded tail feathers, fishing.

Lady Kitty, Lake and I regularly surprise deer while walking through the woods. I’m becoming familiar with the locals and I cherish opportunities to hold their gaze. When the cougar was being sighted on our peninsula, the sight of a freshly knawed bone stilled me. Thinking it a deer tibia, I worried for the fawn and her mother until we next crossed paths.

Tonight the moon rises steadily over the eastern hilltop: full and round, cool and bright. It casts a brightness to the night, beckoning skinny dippers, and inspiring coyotes’ peals of yips and howls, like church bells ringing to creschendo.

The night sky blankets me in comfort. Stars double the rewards of their exertion by reflecting their light on the dark waters. The experience transports me to Yayoi Kusama’s infinity mirror.

Summer hands the baton to Autumn, and Autumn is running hard. Winter prepares to anchor. My Walden tirelessly shows up for every race, irrelevant the outcome. In nature, it all belongs.

7 o’clock in the morning—Autumn
Half past 9 o’clock in the morning—Autumn
2 o’clock in the afternoon — Autumn
7 o’clock in the evening—Autumn

A perfect 77 days, I’m glad I spent them here with you.

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