The land lays quiet after an evening of nocturnal activity. A blanket of clouds provides a window shade to the pending sunrise. The drop of dew on the spike of an oak leaf presents a prism for the morning light.

High above in a tree-bound perch, the hunter can experience the birth of a new day, which words fail to describe. Life begins in the forest and signals us that morning is upon us.

The evidence of this is nowhere stronger than before dawn, when the symphony of sounds and conversation saturate the skies. The hunter sits amidst this concert hall, where forest spirts conduct a performance directed by the appearance of light.

A sudden snap of a twig causes adrenalin in the hunter and flairs the senses. Be it a grey squirrel, an earth-bound chipmunk or the stealth of a fox, experience has trained not to ignore.

A whitetail has made himself known and the age-old pursuit between man and beast is set in motion. Patience becomes the virtue, adrenalin the fuel and a stainless resolve is needed to harness the moment.

Sheer excitement escapes description in the heart of the hunter. The flood of emotions provides confusion to the many decisions yet to be made.

For this, nature is be applauded, for these are the ingredients to true living.

.

I woke this morning floating on a cloud of thankfulness,

from a scene behind my dreams.

The scene held you in full view,

walking toward me under a veil of evening mist.

An overwhelming feeling of gratitude held my heart,

my soul, looking softly to the sky,

with blazing eyes, you gathered me as your own.

You are the keeper of my existence,

the protector of my soul,

you hold my love with the strength of angel wings!

I share a refuge from reality with some special friends, but alas, maybe this is what reality truly is as we return to where we need to be. Imagination is not needed or required but full command of ones senses is indeed a prerequisite.

This community of friends knows and love this place as part of themselves They absorb the view and renew their collective spirits with an injection of pure nature.

Nature is the lifeblood which flows from this place. It is all around and cannot be questioned, challenged or controlled. The sheer beauty of the glimmer on the lake at twilight sparks all to stop and reflect. The love song of the loons provides the background music for the mood.

The longing for loved one to share this moment swells the heart. We relish the work ethic which is strong and true and all but forgotten in our modern world.

The birth of this place, sustained by communal efforts, provides the knowledge that this structure required for extended existence and for each of our spirits. Conversation and memories of past experiences fuel the next adventure and experience once more, whether to net the next trophy fish or witness the next sunrise before others awake.

These thoughts have been transcribed over the years in my heart and have but one origin…the porch at Forester Lake!

The language of the woods is pure and changing on the wind.

Each directional flow provides a note,

which inspire the soul and warm the heart.

A whisper of wind caresses each pine needle,

providing a tone that violin strings would envy.

Seasonal sounds of leaves floating to the forest floor,

provide a symphony of music,

softening their return to mother nature.

As you walk the path of a newly laid carpet,

your senses are cleansed and absorb,

the smells and signs of nature’s finest air freshener.

Stand quiet and inhale the crispness of the dawn,

you will be reborn.

Going beyond the comfort of your evening slumber,

provides your soul with a new horizon,

For your heart, a direction not taken.

Whether it is viewing the ripples on a placid lake on a summer morning,

or breathing in the aroma of pines in the woods,

the gift of today is a reward for being grateful and believing in miracles.

Tomorrow’s are expected, but not promised.

When it comes, make sure you take a moment,

to rise and meet your future,

inhale your good fortune.

Listen to the river, hear the flow with your heart,

Adsorb the direction with your soul.

The wind comes in from the west,

Pushing the seasons forward.

The strength of the change causes one’s heart,

To reset the direction of their next moment.

This movement, through falling leaves,

Allows one to walk among the past,

Nature’s cushion for the future.

Through the movement of time and space,

our existence in this world comes to be.

We hold each breath as a lifetime to be lived,

we take for granted the next moment.

Savor the moment we live in.

The single most important moment in our lives,

should be the next moment.

Make each breath you take,

bring you closer to a world of possibility.

The world of wonder,

where you inhale and exhale your future.

The settled surface at dusk reflects the quiet harbor,

resting from a busy day.

The old wooden piers, which have held fast through the season,

lie silent under an evening rain.

Each weathered plank of wood tells a story,

of daily foot traffic and heavy carts transporting the day’s catch.

Mooring lines hang low with the absence of wind,

but are secure against a sudden blow.

The timing of the tide washes through the bulwarks and post,

Renewing life below.

The evening releases its vigil on the day,

as the eastern sky lights the morning,

with up lighting from the heavens.

Jet plumes, like meteors on the morning,

leave evidence of distant travels.

Parallel tracings of thrust,

mark their direction toward the southern skies.

Ground fog layers the landscape and changes shape with the wind,

as a placid hum in the forest serves as background music.

A spiritual choir welcomes the dawn,

proclaiming a tranquil presence of energy to all who venture in. 

Serenading the dawn are cardinals with their regal beauty,

praising the morning new.  

Canadian geese fly in formation like an arrowhead,

headed to the morning feeding grounds.

The evidence of daily life is everywhere,

no need to rush the daily chores,

Enjoy the majesty of the morning!

“Ebb and flow across time and space connects us with memories of the past”.

I remember being seated in our family heirloom, a homemade wooden rowboat, pulling on tandem oak oars, stroking miles across the Gunpowder and pulling hard, creates a deep wake in my memory.

For hours on a Friday evening, we twisted hundreds of feet of braided rope to accept marinated eel and chicken necks that were destined to tempt the water spiders.

With great anticipation of the pending morning crabbing adventure, well before sunrise, the boats are loaded with tools and tales of days past and the hunt for the giant jimmies. Setting the lines with float and anchor is a chore for many but a pleasure for few.

The resting of the sinew on the bottom of the river will soon yield the promised adventure. We pull the boat along the line, dip net at the ready to harvest the prize. What surprise will the next bait provide.

The exhilaration and reward for all the hours of baiting with salted eel and chicken necks holds tight in my memory.

Another memory presents the scene on pre-dawn hours as we wade into the rising tide in hopes of netting the morning catch.

 With two poles we stretch the length of a large minnow seine and sieve through the shallows, capturing all creatures fast and slow ahead of the gauntlet.

Treading in shorts and bare feet on the river bottom, we pull the net to the nearest shore. Laying the net over our catch we check for signs of life. Fish flap and crabs crawl.

We select the legal catch and throw back the rest. A large plastic bucket serves to hold the bounty until all landing areas along the beach front have been explored.

To us river rats, this exercise was known as “hauling seine”. The catch was then transferred to the cleaning table and then to the breakfast fry pan. Oh! the aromas that flood back in my mind! Only hot grease can elicit such satisfaction.

Across a long trestle train bridge, high above the surface of the river, we hike to a familiar spot known as “Pier 13”. As a true test of bravery or crazy, we would hold our breath and jump from our perch to river below.

Fear and exhilaration share your existence for that very moment. It is that fear and exhilaration that have marked my memory, although if memory serves me correct, this was not a regular occurrence.

Once you surface you cheer and know you have survived this rather dangerous journey. Just another day on the river.

Feeding the need to recall the memories of past life gives rise to adventures past and enjoyable times on the river.

We were a very fortunate lot for we swam and bathed in the river of life and it continues to run through our veins to this day, as memories of West Twin River.