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The thermometer display on the dashboard of Dad's truck showed 37 degrees just before I shut down the engine. The GPS unit didn't even mention the road I was on. It was not significant enough for notice. The truck and I were far from anywhere. I'd parked facing the water, but the usual spectacular vista wasn't available that morning. Ground fog obscured all but the first hundred yards of my view of the lake. The water was mirror smooth, but there was nothing to reflect upon.

The sun should have been low on the eastern horizon, just peering over the forest covered mountains, but on this morning it was merely a dim glow in the cloud. I could only assume that the mountains were still there.

A loon cut a sharp V in the surface of the water as it went about its business. It dove when I opened the door, only to pop up fifty yards further out. The air smelled of wet forest and lakeshore, cool and damp, and fresh. The season was too young for mosquitoes; in another month they would have provided a steady hum around my head. A woodpecker off somewhere in the trees was tapping away. The soft ground at my feet held moose tracks, a cow and calf. Their droppings were a couple of days old, which was all right with me. I like to see moose, but one does not want to drop down in between mama and baby moose. Mama can and will stomp you into a thin film of human if she thinks you threaten her offspring.

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