July 9, 2002 (0645 hours) - Arnstein, Ontario, Canada

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The following represents about 45 minutes of continued observation from the dock at the lake front of my grandparent's cottage.

I woke early this morning.  It remains overcast following yesterday's rain and still.

I went down to the lake to sit. The water was perfectly still under the grey sky, giving it the appearance of obsidian.  The baritone croak of a bullfrog could be heard intermittently to my right.  All around a variety of songbirds chirped incessantly and discordantly, creating a cacophony of sound reminiscent of an orchestra tuning. To my left, a crow or raven cawed, but I could not see him.

Off to the right, two loons have just come around the large rock that juts out from the shore and has so oft served as a fishing point in years past.  They swim gracefully and silently along, not disturbing the peacefulness of the morning with their haunting call.  One dives underwater in search of food while the other stands watch.  He (or she) remains submerged for a full minute with each dive and emerges several metres away from his original locations (loons swim far better than they fly).  They are directly in front of me now.

On the far shore of the lake, a light fog presses down on the treetops.  To the right, almost midway between the fishing rock and the far shore, rests a small island - an island that I swam or paddled to many times as a child and was the source of whimsical adventure and exploration.  The island is mostly rock with some evergreens whose branches always point to my left (the east), reflecting the prevailing direction of the wind over decades.  It and the far south shore are reflected perfectly in the smooth, still, water.

The bullfrog continues to croak and the birds continue to chirp as the second loon starts making dives.  They are now off to my left; the original diver is still close to my shore, the second loon some distance away and now closer to the far shore. 

The trees behind me are still wet from yesterday's rain and occasionally I hear the soft landing of raindrops that drip from their leaves.

The loons have rejoined each other way off to my left and two-thirds of the way toward the far shore.  The drops continue to patter from the trees behind me.  The bullfrog still announces his presence to my left and the crow or raven still caws to my right.  The birds are fewer now, singing one at a time like soloists in a jazz improv session.

As I gaze across the perfectly still lake and look up into the grey morning sky, I hear for the first time this morning the four note song of the bird known colloquially as the, "O Canada," bird.

It is morning on Seagull Lake, and I am at peace.

Seagull Lake at dawn with island in the distance and fishing rock on the right