Awake before dawn.


Time passes slowly up here in the mountains,
We sit beside bridges and walk beside fountains,
Catch the wild fishes that float through the stream,
Time passes slowly when you’re lost in a dream.

– Bob Dylan

Back from some time away from artificially managed time. When the sun goes down you go to sleep. When the sun comes up you wake up. This photo was taken at dawn. The color of the light is natural. This is the rose glow on the deck. The birds haven’t even begun to sing.

Holding on to this moment still.

Adirondack Bound and the big pond next door.

the pond up north

Getting ready for the trip to the little pond, not far away from that big pond — that sits between Vermont and New York. I’ve been watching my weather widgets that report conditions at key points along the way. This morning it is likely that it is about 50 degrees at our little Adirondack Camp. That’s 20 degrees cooler than here in Philadelphia. I am so ready to feel a shiver.

Going on this pilgrimage away from the city, technology, and connectivity is always a joy.

Everything that I am doing now is colored by the trip. What I need to do before I go away, what I need to pack, what I want to cook, what books will we read, what art supplies do I want to carry… Thinking about it all brings the thoughts of being deep inside the woods… the animal sounds and the refreshing smells of the pines and moisture on the leaves early in the morning.

This is a time of rest and renewal. Where the time passes slowly.

the mountains bekon

moleskine sketches

The cool nights have me imagining sitting by the lake, a too hot cup of coffee cradled in my hands. I look out onto the glass-like lake. I can see my breath it’s like the mist on the water. I hold the silence and if I’m going to speak I know I’ll only whisper.

It’s often like that for hours. Sometimes I only sketch in my Moleskine. I don’t want to disturb the quiet with the rustling of paper and getting drawing supplies organized on the deck. Sometimes I close my eyes to feel the morning sun on my face while I enjoy the smell of the trees and the pillowed sound of a birch leaf landing on the moss.

The seven hours driving with the traffic becoming less dense each hour until you only see a truck or two from Canada prepares one for the solitude. The mountains shock you with their colored leaves and the sky bright blue.

Only a few more days now and I’ll be on the trip north.