A morning like this has the potential to cure many ills, especially of the mind and spirit. Hopewell Lake is in French Creek State Park – this morning I watched the sun come up here. (a privilege owed to taking a son to work nearby at 5:30AM)
At the boat dock, a woman unloads her small fishing boat efficiently. After parking her truck and trailer, she gathers her supplies – fishing line, bait and cup of coffee. The surface of the water breaks only briefly as her electric motor pushes her quietly across the water.
The mist from the heavy dew lifting over the multiple layers of tree tops is peace – pure absolute peace. I hold my breath at the sight of three deer under apple trees in a stream of sunlight. I brake to get my phone to snap a picture, but they hear me and react. My chests hurts with beauty watching them run and leap away. The whites of their tails, their slender legs, the trees, the grass and the easy, effortless way they move – it’s beauty in motion.
After the ride – as the sun climbs into the clear sky, a shaded picnic table gives me a spot to write this. I watch a content kayaker fishing near the lake’s edge about thirty feet from me. His cigar smoke circles over his head and his relaxed manner shows he doesn’t have a care in the world at the moment. He watches with a smile as five geese come in for a landing nearby. They have perfect formation until a few feet from the water, then formation breaks as each lands at a different time or place.
It is a perfect morning – the birds are chirping, a slight breeze is stirring and the fragrance of nearby flowers drifts my way. (cliche intended) But real life intervenes and I almost jump at the sound of a weed-eater behind me. My perfect moment is the beginning of another workday for a park ranger and he has jobs to complete.
I prepare to return home, grateful for a morning like this – to help put the rest of life into proper perspective. The issues that seemed so big and overwhelming are reduced to a more manageable size. Life’s problems don’t disappear, but the intensity of them shrinks and I have hope again. Hope – not in me, not in mother earth, not in a person – but hope in the knowledge/feeling that it will be okay. I don’t know what okay means, but I know I like this feeling and I rest in the comfort that this feeling comes from the creator of all this beauty.