Saturday Afternoon, Landon Bay
Evidence of a day’s rain is all around us. The suck of footsteps in the mud under a sky dark and heavy like a stone. The rounded cliff slippery carpets of lichen glazed with tiny drops of rain. In the distance the mouth of the Thousand Islands is waking. The wide oily bay its throat. There is no wind just a drowsy stillness… One swan ripples the water’s surface. Then the excited chatter of rain water leaping down a rocky hill rushing nimbly to the bay. A congregation of cattails rising from the marsh straight as fence posts, a few topped with single sleepy blackbirds. The sun opens the thick robes of the day and the forest flushes with contrasts light and shadow The cartography of our day is drawn with borders of forests and streams and quiet and cloudy skies. Now we are breathing this tangled wilderness into new mythologies.