Whatever Floats Your Boat

I did something unusual yesterday.  I spent an hour in a dark, salt-water filled tank, curious where the experience would take me.  True, it was warm and weird and kind of relaxing, but I wouldn't call it transformative.

This morning, I started my Sunday the way I usually do--walking around Holmes Lake with Finn.

My lake experience proved far richer than my time in its waterlogged, new-age cousin.

Just as we topped the dam, a plump, red sun peeked over the treetops, leaving a dappled sherbet shadow vibrating atop the lake's backwaters.   Finn ignored the light show, though, focused instead on the soft, padding shuffle of voles--sounds that were inaudible to me--as he leapt into the grasses, tail wagging and eyes and ears on full alert.  When we crossed the bridge, its girders lined with spiders and their webs, we set our sights on the dirt path that led uphill, away from the too-noisy gravel path.

Along the way, we saw a heron standing silently in the shallows.  We also flushed a noisy kingfisher from a pine, inspected the wildlife on a stand of goldenrod and chatted up a fisherman who couldn't quit smiling, because he'd just now set his bait for the morning.  I love the patience of fishermen and spiders, their lines awaiting an intersection of lives.

So, yeah, the usual beat out the unusual this weekend.  That doesn't mean I'll skip out on the two additional hours of soak time that I purchased yesterday.  I still hold out hope that there are worthwhile experiences to be had in that dark, watery tank.   But I'm not about to cancel my standing date with the lake, where my dog and I happily disappeared this morning, and let the world have at us.