Lake Seneca

Just a lake-shore.

During a short camping stay, I had the delightful chance to sit between paddling around.

Words don’t really do the feeling justice. I spent decades sailing (beginning in the womb). For many years we went every weekend to the nearest lakes. Lakes, rivers, the Caribbean even. My dad was really into it. Once, my father excitedly got us to the lake for the first, Spring-sailing outing of a season (think: fr-fr-fr-frigid water, rubber wetsuits, die-hard sailors) only to discover the entire lake was STILL FROZEN. Too soon, dad. Too soon. Much fun. Endless stories.

ɕ

I write here most days — reflections, quotes, and working with the garage door up. This is one of more than 5,000 posts. Wander to another →

If you like the way I think, you might like what I’m reading. Every so often I send out 7 for Sunday — seven things I’ve savored, about five minutes, whenever they’re ready. No hooks, no nonsense. Read a recent issue →