Quiet writing time

This is one of those times when I have a half-dozen essays started, and I intended to take this time to work on one of them, but I am struck by the beauty of the moment and feel compelled to try to describe it.

I worked hard this morning.  I did an hour at the gym, then came out to the lake to mow the grass.  The weather has been wet and warm, so the grass was long and shaggy, like my hair in the 1970s.  It was so thick in some places that the lawn tractor struggled.  I got through it, though.  It made a second pass over the lawn with the push mower to clean up the clippings, so I got my steps in, too. Now it is time to relax. 

I decided to grab an Adirondack chair and sit out on the dock.  The temperature is cool, and a light hoodie strikes a reasonable balance between cozy and a little warm. A light breeze blows across the lake, just a note of coolness, like opening the refrigerator on a hot afternoon. The air is clear, fresh, and light.  There is no humidity to weigh it down.

The sky is mostly overcast, with thicker, darker clouds accenting the blue-grey canvas. Every so often, there is a momentary break where the sun peeks through and brightens the landscape, but just a moment later, it retreats behind the blanket of clouds.

Some days, the lake is like glass, reflecting the trees and shoreline like a mirror.  Today, it has a different texture, dimpled like the surface of a golf ball.  It seems to be in constant motion, yet not going anywhere.  If there were more sunshine, it would shimmer off the surface.  Without it, the movement of the water is more sensed than seen.

It is very quiet here.   The most notable noise is the lapping of the water as it is blown by the breeze against the rocks on the shoreline. The birds are calling to one another.  The songs are familiar, but I can't connect them to any particular species.   The musical notes are beautiful nonetheless.

I am surrounded by peace, my mind is quiet and calm.  My soul is still.  I am content.