An autumn afternoon, water, sky and silvery light, drifting fog and reeds almost invisible in the murk's embrace, maples reddening and aspens going gold on the far shore. The rocks and hills hills in the distance are mere smudges, but I don't need to see them or capture them with my lens. I remember them from other years, and I can see them clearly in my mind's eye.
Irv loved the view across the lake from here at all times of the year but especially in autumn. He loved the peace, the stillness, the feeling of infinite possibility, the indwelling grace of the world, so perfectly expressed.
What more does one need on the trailing edge of an October day than this? A heron in the shallows would be grand, a loon or two calling from the center of the lake, a paddling of quackers, a skein of joyously honking geese? Perhaps an eagle describing majestic circles in the sky overhead?
If my soulmate was standing here with us, everything would be perfect, but everything else that matters is already here. How we miss the man.
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