Last evening I fell asleep in an Adirondack chair listening to the sounds of Sixth Lake. It’s a frigid early Fall already here but that was of little consequence. I was happy to shiver, a small price for this kind of peace. Perch jumping. Creaking pontoon bumpers against the dock where I rested. Canoe paddles dipping as sunset approached. Nearby ducks slapping their tired wings against the water as they labored to take flight while the loons warmed up their vocals ~ the changing of the guard. The distant sound of tired little boys who had one cannonball too many. Haunting wind chimes grumbling as they were jostled to a wakefulness but even their distress was no match for the angry wind itself.
The wind was steady, cold… and silent. I opened my eyes to hear it but could only watch its fury as it silently herded clouds through the Adirondack Sky. Layered, unpredictable, menacing, full of competition and danger; angry. But, on occasion, the most intense blue appeared in unanticipated patches of hope; a reminder to keep on.
There is something about this rugged place that scolds me, humbles me, and wraps me in a blanket all at once. Today I feel kinship with the Adirondack Sky as it brushes my cheek and whispers about the difficult decisions just ahead…’on, on.’