Morning

I really am a firm believer in roughing it. Last year, friends camped at a park; I joined them for socialization time, then headed back to the cabin to sleep. It turned out to be a good choice, since it rained that night and my friends slept in their cars. (I had offered the cabin, but they were determined to stick it out.)

So here I am, in what's basically a studio apartment at the lake. I'm not sure whose wireless I'm picking up, but it really makes it hard to think I'm roughing it. I suppose for me, that term involves the concept of "packing up all my necessities and lugging them to my overnight point of interest." Having to use trial-sized shampoo. Pre-planning and packaging the food I'll need. Once, the water heater didn't kick in soon enough to give me more than a tepid shower. Horror, I know.

Despite having most of the comforts of home, this place is unique for me. Last night's creature notwithstanding, I breathe relaxation when I walk in the door. The lake-side wall is mostly windows, which means I can sit practically anywhere and see tall grasses, cottonwoods waving, the blue of the lake, and sky. For whatever reason, I awoke around three this morning. Moonlight streamed in through those lake-side windows and echoed geometric shapes on the floor. Had I been conscious, I would have enjoyed it more, but the incident was poignant enough for my memory to retain until I got up.

Birds and trees; wind and sky. Geese that passed overhead last night rise up from the lake this morning. Fall, apparently, is here.