It had been a rainy summer day on the lake; sprinkling rain, down pouring rain and even thunder. Great day for a roaring wood fire, and we did that. Great day for board games, and we did that, too.
At bedtime, the clouds had still not dissipated. Frank called me down to the lake; I had to see it, he said. He was right.The thick gray and shadowy clouds at 9:00 p.m. hovered just over my head as I stood on the dock. I had never heard silence so deep. Does silence have a sound?
It did. It was like a humming; the silence had its own distinct and unique humming sound. “This silence is deafening,” is all I could think. “The sounds of silence” from a Paul Simon song were instantly grasped.
An occasional frog croaked in the distance.
We saw the lights from one camp…one camp on the entire lake. It felt surreal, other worldly to be so alone and so quiet. And yet, just three hours north of Portland, we were completely alone, surrounded by the depth of nature, only animals and weather.
So close, and yet further away than I’d ever been.