Tuesday, November 24, 2009
My Evening Stop at the Lake of Sorrows
It snowed today at the Lake of Sorrows. Old Man Winter found his way back to the Shire after a two season absence. The pines were frosted in white. Six inches of snow blanketed the ground. The scene was beautifully reflected against the lake’s frigid waters.
I was driving home from Dibley in the Downs. The sun was setting. The sky burned with Fall’s bright colors. Red, yellow and orange danced across the sky giving the Shire its very own display of celestial lights. I rounded the corner where Highway One parallels the lake’s shoreline. Solitude Bay came into view. I was stunned by the vibrant Autumn sunset mirrored in the still water and felt compelled to pause my journey to capture the image of nature at her finest.
I pulled off the highway and got out. The coming night chilled the air, transforming my breath into a lingering fog. I heard the sound of silence broken only by the crackling sound of freshly fallen snow under foot. An eerie stillness surrounded me. I worshiped in this cathedral of light for several minutes - my hands in my pockets and coat collar up. Even the occasional sound of a car on the highway didn’t distract me. I wondered why I was the only one captivated by this masterpiece of nature. Where were my fellow travelers? Didn’t they have a moment to stop and celebrate this majesty of nature?
I forgave their haste. It was getting dark. They were rushing home to warm suppers and quiet evenings, the kind only found in Cloverdale.
So, my friends, I'll share this moment with you. Look at this canvas. Stand with me near the shore. Don’t talk. It isn’t necessary. Let the surroundings speak. Breathe in the chilled lake air and experience something truly remarkable.
Twilight enveloped the sky, gathering all color to itself. It was time to go. I climbed into my car, shut the door and turned the key. Unwanted noise filled the stillness; the radio, the fan, and the growing sound of my tires on pavement.
I vowed to return someday, but the flickering streetlights of home were calling. A warm supper waited, followed by a quiet evening with family and friends.