Sproat Lake, Victoria Island BC Canada

Friday 7:15am, the day after Thanksgiving

Couch, coffee, wool blanket, fireplace and a wall of windows:

From the deck, there are steps that disappear steeply down to the lake.  In between the red slabs of wood, there are grey stones neatly inlayed, making order to the overgrown forest and lush ferns.  The pines arc over the steps creating a narrow tunnel, the steps vanish.

The lake is still and grey, the low sky covers the mountains, that in the early morning make the mountain look black. Between the clouds there is a narrow opening which exposes a sliver of snow on the black mountain. In the distance a small mound of an island floats.  It looks like a giant top hat floating in the grey water. The top hat island is sleek in contrast to the low white clouds, which are weighed down, stuck in the crevasses of the black mountain.

The pine trees stand still. Quiet. Finally resting after yesterday’s constant rain.

When I step outside, the scene changes and become alive with sound and movement.  A frigid chill makes me shiver and I am now a part of the scene. I wrap the blanket closer to my neck and squeeze my arms to my chest.  At a closer look down the steep disappearing steps, part of the lake looks like it moving east and another part streams west. They are like a giant basket, weaving together in one lake. White birds fly low along the tree line. With an effortless flow, their wings paint a white trail. A touch of the morning light catches one of the wings’s and flickers a warning light on the dark black lake. Like the steep steps, they too disappear.

A squirrel chirps and scatters, disrupting the peace. Water laps against the stone beach, over and over and over again.

An hour passes and it is no lighter and no darker. The thick canopy of pines and moss makes the morning even darker as the low sky continues to push down towards the lake.

Back inside it is warm, but my blanket is still chilled from being outside. The dog laps water like the lake hitting the stone beach, her nails scrape the floor as she walks to her rug and settles. She licks her wet muzzle and exhales loudly.

It is morning.

She is now quiet, like the house, and the black floating top hat at the end of the lake.

pacem Deus reddidit ~ God restores peace