See

1. To my right, as I face north across the hidden “lake”, is the intensifying orange of the early morning sky. Today is breaking with all of the hope and warmth of a clear, spring day. The ridge of pines atop the steep embankment is still a single, dark, sharply outlined mass. The forest too, it seems, is awakening. It embodies excitement and anticipation, awaiting the sun’s permission to distinguish self. To dance freely throughout a day that begins with these gentle, breezy gusts that will grow to a steady blow. Is that a nesting eagle atop those isolated, barren limbs? An osprey? A raven? Look as the emerging shadow stretched across the still water. Trunk meets trunk with seamless transition. Foot meets foot. There is not yet a critical line between myself and how I see myself in reflection. I am still free. 
2. I see the smallness of the lake. It never stretches beyond grasp. It is accessible. Fathomable. And so I may breathe. Its isolation, however, removes it from this learned instinct to compare. And so, this little lake is big. As big as the endless expanse of time one might devote to noticing. The rugged, rocky shore that flattens and then rises, sharply. It is both gentle and severe. One may wade. Another may leap. Each rock touching both worlds – the one above and the other below – has its mark, its own touch on the larger shape. The remains of fallen trees, smoothly carved by years of wash, a gentle finishing. Imitating otters or beavers or… Dead heads they call them. And that curious island, with all of the temptation of adventure and exploration. Too small and baren for the desires of humankind. A safe haven perhaps. Breeding. Growth. Life. Death. Life again. Reciprocity. Let it be. Please.
3. I see an overflowing canoe, made from tin. Abruptly pulled to shore. And the lake threatens to swallow. A broken paddle, in search of half its blade. Another paddle intact, in search of care. An arrangement of rocks circling a charred, cedar limb. Ashes. The tab of a beer can. Another. And another still. And finally, posts wedged in earth, between rocks and connected by a railing. Milled and “treated” spruce, along the edge of rock and the steep drop. A constructed divide. I see safety. I also see fear. Worst of all, I see control.

Think

1. I think I will move here, carve a little abode – respectfully, in the most unobtrusive way – into the landscape. Breathe freely and easily. Always. Barely removed from the flow of life, I cannot hear even a trace of the busy road below. I think shoulders will more easily separate from my ears as all stresses belong to a world that is not this. I think the world will call this escape. I will call it living. The lake is hidden and so too will I be. Need to be. I think that’s me I see, through this early morning mist, pulling myself through the otherwise still water to its deep and cold center. I think each day that begins this way is already assured of something better. I think being truly awake has that effect. 
2. I think I’ve seen this picture before, maybe a hundred times. On the wall of a gallery or even just a living room here or there. A painting by Thompson or Jackson or Harris. Or is it Saley? Each time igniting each of my senses, capturing my imagination. Simplicity has that effect, and so does escape. I think I need to better blur the lines. Even as I stand here, I am separated by the glass within the frame. I am an observer, a relative outsider, an onlooker. As if pushed against the wall at a highschool dance, I think this awkwardness begins to describe the tension of a world and a life. Two identities. Separated. Too often at odds. One world, like the lake itself, is a circle. The sun. The moon. The seasons. Life. Death. And life again. The other world, like a highway, is a line that rarely slows. Fixating. Racing. Consuming. I look down to see myself in the glass. I think at this moment, I am merely stopped at the side of a road for a picture. I think I hear the roar of an engine.
3. I think silence is not actually silence. Silence is hearing the birds more clearly. A ‘chirp’. A ‘caw’. Even a ‘hoot’. The gentle lapping of the shore. A tiptoeing breeze and the rustling of leaves. I think silence is the absence of noise so that we may more clearly hear the sounds. I think my brain is filled with noise. Worry. Agony. Fear. Silence is being able to hear my thoughts. I think noise is a need to defend. Combat Convince. Justify. Satisfy. Explain. Silence is freedom to think. Noise is occupying. Serving. Consuming. Distracting. Silence is being. Silence is always achievable. I think I need to believe that. I think silence is more easily attained here. 

Wonder

1. I wonder what the world might think. Too small to truly be a lake. Too big and “fresh” to be a pond. I wonder if this is why it’s been left alone. Mostly alone. I wonder about the power of living in the margins, beyond the terminology of the world. Between definitions. Escaping the temptations of labels. I wonder what this hidden lake might say to me right now. ‘You are you. Exactly you. Not what you are called. Not what you want to be called. Be you.’  I wonder if the world will drink its water. Displace and eat its life. Harvest its trees. Wink and smirk at its birds. I wonder if the world would see the ways to make this bigger, to make it more, to make it something that can be named. 
2. I wonder about the power of stopping the temptation to wonder. To think so much. To wonder is a verb. Wonder is also a noun. To have a sense of wonder, to be in wonder. I am wonder. And with it this feeling. Simple. Peaceful. Existing. I wonder if true life is this. Not a yearning to achieve, to be more or better than, but rather the exhilaration of being in wonder. Connected to. A part of. One with. Pure love feels this way. So does joy. Even if we are searching for either, we only ever accidentally stumble upon. I wonder if I am awake enough to notice. I wonder how much I miss by trying so hard not to miss. By racing to whatever is next, and past whatever is here. In front of me. Always. I wonder why I weigh so heavily ‘how much’ or ‘how little’. It sounds like control and concern and suddenly I am far away from here. Again. I wonder the power, implications and feelings of remaining here, whatever or wherever here is. However much. However little. Don’t worry so much about how to stay or how not to be here. Just… be here.
3. I wonder if he can see me. Through the eyes of the barred owl, somewhere among those hooting trees. I wonder why he makes it so hard to be seen. Perhaps it is a lesson? A teaching? “It is not proof that you require for this to be true. You do not need to see me. If you feel me, then this is real. I am here so that you may also be here. I am with you. Do not wonder how to honour me. Be with me. Laugh and cry with me, as we have so many times before. It is ok. You do not need to leave before this moment, this feeling ends. Stay. Please. Feel this moment. Breathe.. Lift your heavy head. Open your broken heart. Look anywhere you choose and you can see me. Now I am as alive as you. Thank you for that gift. “