I grew up on a lake in Michigan, a middle-sized inland lake where my dad owned a marina and sold Chris-Craft inboard boats and Evinrude outboard motors. So I feel a definite resonance with lakes, even though I've come to prefer small quiet motor-less lakes with unspoiled wooded shores, rather than the power-boat-roiled, cottage-crowded, summer-people-populated kind of lake I grew up on. But come September, even that busy, noisy lake would grow quiet, its waters stilled, the lower sunlight gleaming on its glassy surface when I got home from school. I was reminded of those long-ago days today, when I visited Moreau Lake State Park. I sensed again that pure-September quietness, the sunlight glinting off still water, the sky a clearer, deeper blue, now that summer's more-humid air has cleared. A few folks lounged in chairs on the now-closed swimming beach, and one or two cast lines from the fishing bridge, but I met not a single soul as I made my way around the back bay of the lake.
Occasional plants of Slender Gerardia (Agalinis tenuifolia) still held a few of its pretty freckle-faced flowers.
Most of the Water Smartweeds (Persicaria amphibia) floating on the lake appeared to be well past blooming. Luckily, I was able to zoom my camera sufficiently to find this solitary tuft of pretty pink flowers.
As I rounded the bay and reached the opposite shore, I paused to admire the mountain's reflection in the still water.
Here was a final peaceful image as I ended my walk. This fisherman was trolling for fish, his line trailing behind him as he propelled his solo canoe, not with a sputtering gas-powered motor but by his own silent paddling. The afternoon sun caused his translucent Kevlar canoe to glow like a lantern, all beautifully reflected in the still water. Pure September!