I am working on a post about my love affair with limestone, lakes, rivers, trains, freighters, and the few weekends I spent at Port Dolomite among Les Cheneaux Islands at the northern end of Lake Huron.
Even writing this, I can smell the air, and it fills me with the symphony breath of urgent spiritual wind instruments, desiring to be free...
Every time I went to Northern Michigan, there was a certain spot, a certain elevation where the clouds were closer, as if they descended to meet us, and we were filled with clarity.
The picture above reminds me of the bays I used to haunt.
When the water was low, it was a long hike along a rocky shingle.
When the water was high, I jumped from boulder to boulder. I had a good sense of balance. Every prominence was lofty, every rock a secret, every glen a fairy circle...
--
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment