Archive
08/18/09 - (3)
Each Other's Shadows
Leaving the village of Lake Nebagamon, I reach Brule, Then follow the southern shore of Lake Superior, Through Port Wing, Herbster, Cornucopia,
Arrive, an hour and a quarter later, in Washburn, Before homing in on Bayfield, Where I'll spend the night, at the Winfield Inn,
In a room high on a hill overlooking the lake — A placid sweep of Chequamegon Bay, Facing Madeline Island.
Now that I'm here and settled in, I realize that the lake's been following me, and I it; We're each other's shadows.
Neither of us would have it any other way. After all, without one another, We wouldn't exist.
Sometimes, like right this very lifetime of mine, When our affinities coincide so intimately, I'm certain that, once, I was a lake.
08/18/09 - (3)
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