Adirondack Sky


Last evening I fell asleep in an Adirondack chair listening to the sounds of Sixth Lake. It’s a frigid early Fall already here but that was of little consequence.  I was happy to shiver, a small price for this kind of peace.  Perch jumping. Creaking pontoon bumpers against the dock where I rested.  Canoe paddles dipping as sunset approached.  Nearby ducks slapping their tired wings against the water as they labored to take flight while the loons warmed up their vocals ~ the changing of the guard. The distant sound of tired little boys who had one cannonball too many.  Haunting wind chimes grumbling as they were jostled to a wakefulness but even their distress was no match for the angry wind itself.

The wind was steady, cold… and silent.  I opened my eyes to hear it but could only watch its fury as it silently herded clouds through the Adirondack Sky.   Layered, unpredictable, menacing, full of competition and danger;  angry.  But, on occasion, the most intense blue appeared in unanticipated patches of hope; a reminder to keep on.

There is something about this rugged place that scolds me, humbles me, and wraps me in a blanket all at once.  Today I feel kinship with the Adirondack Sky as it brushes my cheek and whispers about the difficult decisions just ahead…’on, on.’