Friday, September 12, 2008

September 12, 2008 Pumpkin Island

I awoke a few times, each time to a slightly brighter sky. Then in the oak leaves I could see through the clear story windows of the back bedroom, the catched movement indicating rain. I unraveled myself from the covers and could hear the pitter patter of rain on the roof. No rush today, I sat back and watched the day unfold at these early hours. The pitter patter turned to a steady drizzle, then a hard rain. Water coming down in torrents, the gutters unable to keep up, water jumped over the edges and spouted straight out from the corners of the house where folds in the roof come together - like being spit from gargoyle mouths high in the ramparts. Finally it settled down to a steady patter and the mist rose from the warm rocks. I look out over the wide deck and beyond the fallow blue berry bushes, picked clean for the season by birds and island residents. Over the rock on the point and the sentinel oak that guards that side of the island from the onrush of the river's current. Beyond a misty bay, fog shrouded islands loom in the distance - perhaps with their occupants of sleepy humans, or alert squirrels looking my way with the same thoughts.

The two large boats bob patiently at the dock below, tied loosely to keep from banging, and the kayaks are racked, awaiting some human assistance to begin their graceful glide. My hiking bots are by the door anticipating the musky dirt, pine needles and river muck beneath their soles. There are books stacked neatly by the chair looking over the bay and a pantry full of potential meals to cook. Yet, I sit staring out over the river and listen to the rain patter and the birds call - the duck's quack and goose's call, the wispy flap of a crow flying overhead and the distant rumble of boat moving far off downriver. That should be enough for today... I think.

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