Like a seasonal alarm clock, the static buzz of Cicada in mating serenade, somewhere out there in the leafy glade beyond my open window reminds me that the 'dog days of August' are here...and its time to disappear. As we say in Ontario, "I'm goin' up north".
To the land of Algonquin on the edge of the Precambrian...where 3 billion years ago, continents collided with such force that mountains melted and then cooled to form the unique 'shield' landscape celebrated in the Group of Seven paintings...and where once mile high glaziers in their thousand year melt, gouged and tapered this land, shaping the rivers, valleys and lakes we now enjoy...
Where a tiny cabin, a sparkling lake and a vast cool canopy await...with Red and White Evergreen pine...hardwood trees of every kind...ancient Cedar as old as Peter...rocks to uncover and fossils to find...hooks to thread and fish to catch...down by the meadow a berry patch...with bacon and spuds for shore lunch fry...and books to read as night slips by...as clouds of skitters and black fly whirl...in a dark green forest...so silent its unreal.
These days, the only way to recharge a human, is to completely 'unplug it'
So, cheers my dears...see yah later tater.
If I don't return from there...and I hope that you'll care, please look in the belly of a bear.
Beautiful.
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