Sunday, October 7, 2012
My Other Home
Sunday morning dawned cloudy and cold at Pyramid Lake in the Adirondacks. No morning sun touched the trees with gold, but they glowed as if lit from within, exuding a visible warmth. I was here to help close up camp for the winter, but now my work was done and I was free to simply stand and take in the exquisite beauty. Absolute silence -- no crickets or frogs, not a whisper of wind in the trees nor a ripple splashing against the shore, just one long plaintive call from a loon beyond the island. I grew cold, but I knew that dear people, good food, and hot coffee were waiting for me in the dining hall. What miracle made it happen that this place could belong to me?