Last Tuesday we ventured to Little Sand Bay for some much-needed relaxation. I had to convince Frances first that it was warm enough (mid-70s) to remove her long underwear--it was July 17th for Heaven's sake--before we headed to the sun-drenched shore. Once there, I read a book aloud as Frances sewed a sweatband into her new 50 cent straw hat and Namaste explored the beach and napped in the shade.
While I wrote in my journal I paused as a fishing boat glided past surrounded by seagulls. The sunlight reflected off the flapping wings and turned moving birds into tiny sparks of light. It reminded me of a pointillist painting, a technique that uses dots of paint which blend together in the viewer's eye. It was truly an impressionistic scene, my feelings stirred by the visual effect of light on fluttering wings, dancing gulls, and the smooth forward motion of the fishing boat. As I watched the light glance off the water and shimmer through the air I could see and sense the forward momentum but felt entranced by this one brief, captured moment. The sun, lake, birds, boat, and sky were my art museum as I tumbled into the light-infused painting, my senses sparked.
Soon, an eagle swept over the surface of the lake directly in front of us and flew to the top of a tree that poked its head high above the rest on the near-distant shore. It was hard to return home to work; the rhythmic waves had depressed the pause button on our frantic lives and I'd lost the desire to release that button and resume "Play."
Yesterday morning I drove to Bayfield to lead two t'ai chi chih moving meditation classes on the lakeshore. About halfway down our hill I saw a tall, long-legged bird standing in the drive--a Great Blue Heron--who took flight in that same instant, great wings lifting and rising, rising, rising above the driveway, above the trees, and out of sight. What a gift of beauty in the daily rush of responsibility! Downtown I practiced t'ai chi chih along the lakeshore while a Cormorant, or sea crow, glided silently by nearly touching the lake's surface.
We returned to the lakeshore near Meyer's Beach last night around 7:30. As soon as we stepped onto the sand, a family of geese along the water's edge--two parents and six adolescents-- watched us with suspicion. We walked the opposite direction, not wishing to interrupt, and soon noticed a Merganser family (Mom and eight babies) swimming out from the shoreline. Mom led the way and her clutch followed, some more reluctantly than others. Just when I thought they were all gathered together, another two small fluffs of feathers shot out from the shore. They streaked across the water, running on tiny feet. Once reunited, youngsters piled onto Mom's back (see picture at the top of this entry) and she swam further into the waves. They rode, smoothly, for a short while before they piled off again.
Occasionally Mom dove under water to search for fish while young'uns flashed ahead, like enormous water bugs whisking along the lake's surface. Now Mom had to struggle to keep up. What a sight! I laughed ... this small family group with its humorous and unexpected behaviors reminded me of Last Comic Standing. Surely no one could top this act. Again and again, nature and her many actors feed my soul with their shining, bobbing, sweeping, flashing, flying, lightning mix of art, culture, music, and entertainment.
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