The other day I was gifted a long walk along the Lakewalk that borders the eastern tip of Lake Superior. And this wasn’t just any walk — it was a walk by myself. It was a walk without watching my child leap from rock to rock, my heart leaping alongside him.
It was a walk without trying to focus on a conversation with a friend. It was a walk even without my beautiful little dog pulling on her leash to sniff every third blade of grass. It was just me.
And all my thoughts and all my senses. I’ve spent a lot of time with the former. I’m a little tired of them.
So, I pushed my thoughts back and focused on the latter. No place in the world engages the senses like the shores of Lake Superior. It was one of those cool, calm, gray mornings that looked like rain but it never came.
This had the effect of encouraging everyone else to do something else. Usually bustling with people at the height of summer, the Lakewalk, too, was taking a break. ADVERTISEMENT The air was quiet.
Without the wind stirring up the waves to beat rhythmically on the shore, I heard the birds call to one another as they swooped and glided, looking for breakfast. I burst into invisible fragrant clouds of perfume as the thick, damp air suspended scents from ripe foliage and flowers. The cool humidity tickled my cheeks.
As I saw a view I’d seen hundreds of times before, I searched for what I’d never seen: pigeons perched on a rocky wall, a bee bouncing between bright pink buds. I looked down into the wate.