Contemplating With Thoreau

There is a streak of gold on the eastern horizon. There is a pink cloud above it, floating through a navy sky while it's twin rides the calm water below. There is a gentle chill on exposed skin, soft and wet as the pink cloud.

There is the waft of dead things, and alive. There is a splash from the shoreline. There is a questioning quack. There is the wispy wings of a heron, and raucous incoming geese. There is the rustle of a happy dog zig-zagging through tall grass, and a thermos of hot coffee upright in the mud.

There is time; time to consider, time to wait, time to breathe.

"Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after."

Henry David Thoreau

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