The early morning sky smiled for a moment as if it were an invitation to gather east like readied lavender. It makes me think about visiting an unfenced place and let's be honest, it’s about more than just visiting. After a week of travel, Christmas at Gun Lake. The ice forming on the lake is only thick enough for an occasional bird landing. Fisherman are itchy as the shanties wait along the snowless shore for moving day. The visit goes well with the exception a few clashes of unthoughtful posturing and declaration. Times of gratefulness and love are interrupted by the exacting John-Wick-draw of a very sharp knife. At least, that's how it goes down in my mind.
Home afterwards, spaghetti sauce simmers on the stove for hours. Which heaven is more holy than warm bread melting around the tongue? Okay, maybe chocolate pudding. Maybe soft Nutella crepes. The fire is stoked all day and it somehow keeps the compounding gray at bay. I still feel the sea, and my knees still have the impressions of sand. There are words about the sea and then there is the sea. Presence renders any reaching unnecessary.
Am I done reaching? The distance plays games and the body responds. Distance from the sun. Distance from that river. Distance from the small book shop, coffee in hand, with hours to kill.
Rain. More rain than the land can handle right now. From the bay window I watch the fat creek gush over mossy rocks. More tea please. Blueberry, peach or ginger. You decide. Place the teacup next to my preacherless church and I will give you my soul.