Gifts Upon the Shore

The cottages along the lake have all been closed up for the year, the blithe residents headed back to work and school in far flung places, and the place is quiet this weekend.  Small flocks of geese and ducks remain, but the herons and bitterns are gone, and the Great Northern Loon (Gavia immer) has departed for its winter home on the Gulf of Mexico - I heard loons calling goodbye as they flew overhead a few days ago.  In early October, the lake is as glossy and dark as any remote Scottish highland tarn, and it seems resigned and serene.

There are no wood fires burning in the cottages this weekend, but I breathe in the fine remembered fragrance of earlier woodsmoke, old stone, driftwood on the shore and wild things gone to seed, and I feel summer's warmth on my skin again.  Revisiting memories is a splendid thing at this time of the year. 

For some reason my mind persists in revisiting summer sounds, sights and scents in October: the call of the aforementioned loons in early morning, children on the beaches, canoe paddles dipping slowly into water, great herons fishing in the shallows, flocks of mergansers in flight.

Here we are again, all wrapped up in some of the most magnificent sunsets anywhere. Standing on the shoreline last evening with my collar turned up against the wind, hands in my pockets and Spencer leaning against me, I knew in my blood and bones that I simply could not be anywhere else, for these highlands feed me.  As long as I can journey into this wild place now and then, I can cope with anything that comes my way.