Quiet, Alone, Content

As I write this, I remain at the cabin where I have been the past few days. We have had in that time steadily deteriorating weather. We started out with a sunny 70 degrees, and assumed we could count on a week of the same, but such has not been the case. It has not gotten so bad as to descend into the depths of a storm, but it has gotten colder, and that's not all bad. It is, of course, easier to appreciate that stuff from indoors.

We've gotten fog now. It's a hell of a thing for me, having grown up in Phoenix, but perhaps it's commonplace and mundane for others. Advised of the fog's arrival, I eagerly rushed outside with others. I was alone in my group of friends in seeking to see more, however. I walked down the steps from the second floor balcony of the cabin, down the driveway and across the street to the dock where a pontoon boat, two kayaks and a canoe have all lain at our disposal.

It was breathtaking to look out to the lake. One could see nearly nothing save the brightest lights across the way. The very ordinary quacking of ducks penetrated the fog, lending an incongruously lighthearted quality to the proceedings. Not having had enough, I set off down the street which leads to the nearby village. I walked that way a couple minutes, chuckling at the realization that it was a rather hazardous thing I was doing.

I turned around and went about as far in the other direction, all the while marveling at the eerie beauty of things and cursing a lot. I returned to the cabin to find that my friends had decided the brisk conditions were more than a match for their level of interest in the sight of the fog. It's no new thing for me to be alone in my level of passion for something, so I was hardly surprised. That's fine. It's just more fog for me.