It's my favorite time of year. Wearing sweaters on top of sweaters underneath fuzzy plaid blankets, nothing can stop me from enjoying this season. The wind is blowing the dying leaves while the gray skies decide when to let down the rain. I sit on the floor, going through old notebooks, blonde hair tucked behind my ears to keep out of the way.
Reading old pieces of writing, remembering the moment something came to be. Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring are spread throughout these pages. Poems and stories with thoughts all around. I sigh, flipping through the crumpled notebook pages. Trying to read my sometimes unreadable handwriting is a game within itself, seeing what words belong together with lines scribbled here and there.
I turn to a page with birds, trees, fishes, and loons doodled on top. "When was this?" I whisper silently as my eyes try to understand the scribbles on the page..
Another day at the lake. Loons looking for food by the float not far away from shore. Mist below the trees. Glass water with little ripples that mirrors the blue cloudless sky. Heat from the sun makes me want to jump in the morning water. A loon by the float stares at me while I stare back, fasciated by one another. Another loon pops up less than 10 feet away but does not acknowledge me. A third one comes along and joins the group, calling out at the two as though they left without him. This morning, two were in front of me. Diving their bodies under, trying to catch their first meal of the day but come up unsuccessful, for the need to breathe takes over. The wind picks up, causing baby waves and mist to approach me. Another day at Center Pond. My happy place.
Looking up as the sun shines through the clouds, I remember where I am. I blink, taking a few sips of water, I read the piece once more. It's captivating how words on a page written over a year ago can instantly take me back to laying on a dock on a hot summer morning on a crisp afternoon in October. What was once a moment is now a memory captured in words. Things written that my mind could never remember on it's own. Little details that take me back to this day on the lake.
I flip some more pages to find the letter I wrote myself on the morning of my 21st birthday while sitting on that same dock watching the sun appear over the trees.
During those moments of craziness in life, like the lake water, it will soon be calm again. Watch a bird fly or remember the eagle flying across the lake and know that everything will be okay. How the lake mirrors the morning sky, all pink, orange, and blue filled with clouds. The trees reflect in the water and fish coming for air like humans when we swim. Hearing the loon talk to one another. Putting my feet in the morning water, not yet polluted by human activity. How one red canoe is parked a few feet offshore, never being able to capture it perfectly. The smell of nature, pure and fresh. Everything will be okay. Be thankful for every moment.
"Why don't I go back and read these more often?" My mind wonders as a smile comes across my face. Every word written throughout these pages are reminders to myself, thoughts I wanted to keep, moments that couldn't be felt through a photograph. The funny thing is, when I wrote these words I never thought I would still be writing today. Back then I was writing to have something to do on vacation, something to entertain me without needing a connection. It was a way to pass the time.
I close my notebooks, saving the memories inked on a piece of paper. Getting up to look out the window, I see orange leaves glowing in the sun. The football game is on downstairs, my mother yelling at whatever just happened on the screen. I roll my eyes, chuckling at the reminder of how different I am from my sport loving parents.
Stretching my arms over my head, I can hear my back pop from it as my mother cheers down stairs. Something good must have happened. My eyes looks out at the falling leaves while my mind goes back to the moments that took place on an August day by a lake.
My happy place.
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