January 20, 2004: My Lady took two lives the other day. An overturned canoe was found in Her frigid waters, an abandoned firearm found upon Her shore. Apparently, two men had been duck hunting and one fell into the water. The other attempted to help him, but both shared in the same fate. The murky depths and underwater vegetation of Her lake have taken others before them.
And I must acknowledge all of Her faces.
The same waters have shown me the face of the moon, disturbed only by the faint concentric rings produced by a tossed pebble or a fish contacting the surface. They have soothed and consoled me in some of my worst hours, and they have held my small kayak afloat as I explored the terrain from a different perspective.
Her winter snows split and bend the young Eastern Red Cedars, and She calls forth the purple crocus from the chill soil. The osprey, whose presence seems to be less frequent as the years pass, graces Her sky with his arched, dappled wings. Her features are delineated in the foliage - Tulip Poplar, Sassafras, Pin Oak, White Ash, Dogwood, Sugar Maple - they are the delicate lines that etch Her skin. Her bones are the water-worn boulders left behind by glaciers at the end of the last Ice Age.
She breathes in the air, flows in the water, resounds in the earth, quickens with the warmth of the sun.
I am searching for Her name.
* * * * * *( further musingsCollapse )
As you can tell by the dates included in this writing, it is already a few years old. It is obviously in need of some (okay, a lot
) additional work.