Life between the lakes, part 24
I am currently afforded the time to enjoy simple things in the north woods. It is not every day people can literally watch the sun rise minute by minute over the horizon directly in front of them, but it happens daily with me when the weather cooperates.
And I do not take it for granted.
I count the birds along my walks with Jack and Needa. I watch the trees twitch and see snow ghosts’ fall out of them in the yard. I keep track of the ice shelf on Lake Superior, look for fresh animal tracks, watch the sunset and marvel at the ghostly imaginary figures I see in the maverick snow squalls that race across the lake.
The one thing I learned from the great writer, Jim Harrison, is that in order to be a writer, one needs to have a dedication to awareness and be immersed in it all the time. I know I will never attain greatness like Harrison, but I know I would be content being remembered as a writer people enjoyed reading.
This morning it was bleak and windy. The only bird I saw was Mr. Evermore, the local raven who is still looking for the scraps I used to set out for the coyote I was feeding. Sadly, he is gone.
Late in the evening an amazing thing happens. I stargaze at night and everything is different from what I am used to seeing in the summer. I love the alignments of the stars in winter because they are so different.
As I looked at Orion’s belt this week and gazed south-west in the sky, I see the suspenders that hold up the belt, yet no astronomer has ever mentioned them. The big dipper is spilling the other way and after the light show we had at Christmas, other planets are away, making their rotation.
I am an ear to the forest and it will remain an unsolved mystery. I don’t want anything to pass me bye; especially life.
Tomorrow holds no promises. But tonight, light from ancient stars illuminate the big beautiful sky in a way I have not seen before and never will again.