the mountains bekon
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.