An early morning paddle (05/22/05)

Frost on the dock, mist on the water, morning is a beautiful time to go for a paddle. I'd taken just a few strokes when a great blue heron rose from the little cove across from me. It's gangly form rose gracefully. The dusky blue-grey feathers blended so perfectly with the early morning colours. Had it not moved, I never would have seen it.

At the end of the bay a pale grey cloud touched the water. Its top rose above the trees of the far shore. Some would call this a fog bank, but to me, it was a very low cloud.

The sun shone brightly at my end of the bay. At least on the western shore. I paddled into the sun on the glassy surface of the lake. A lone beaver swam across the bay, about half way out. When I turned the corner at the mid-point of the bay, another beaver came crashing wildly out of the bush, and splashed noisily into the lake. Then he was gone.

I could hear the whimpering of young beavers as I drifted past their house. A bit of winter's ice still lingered on the bedrock under the cedars further along the shore. I think it has been a cold spring.

As I neared the end of the bay, the low cloud appeared to be moving into the bay. I moved into the cloud! At the edge of the cloud, a flattened circle of brilliant white formed directly opposite the sun, like a rainbow without colour. A hint of the blue sky touched the top of the "bow." Looking into the cloud, I could see only tones of white and grey. Looking away from the cloud, the shoreline of the lake rose in brilliant shades of green forest and grey rock interspersed with the startling white of the birches.

Moving deeper into the fog-cloud, the shoreline faded away, faded to grey. The "bow" disappeared. Now all I could see were the tiny ripples from the movement of the canoe. The dark water at my side faded to grey where the ripples disappeared. They too faded into the mist. There was no distinction

between lake and sky. All was water. Looking straight up, I could see just a hint of the blue sky.

Moving slowly, immersed in the cloud, a ghostly island appeared in the distance. I paddled toward it, then suddenly, the eastern shore appeared as I emerged from the cloud.

With the cloudbank behind me, the circle of white reappeared. More startling was the perfectly clear shoreline ahead, and its perfect reflection in the water below. Barely three weeks have passed since the ice left the lake, and I am still awestruck by the beauty of the interactions between land, water and sky.