Susan and I celebrated summer’s end by sculling into autumn on Saturday morning. Sculling. September 23, 2023. Summers end. Slightly alliterative autumn. The beginning of a new chapter. Crisper. More colorful. Susan, Carley, and I uncovered the dory and rowed out onto placid waters to better observe the beginning of fall foliage and to honor the shift from carefree summertime to falling leaves and harvest and cool nights and colorful panoramas.
A tranquil outing on Lake Champlain with my two ladies, alternately exercising and relaxing, enjoying one another’s company, taking time to absorb the soothing splendor. The beginning of weekend, and yet the lake was empty. So quiet. So serene.
Susan and I talked and laughed. Carley watched us, watched her surroundings, snoozed.
No rush. No timeline. No deadline.
Sculling north, I exercised and Susan relaxed. Sculling south, Susan exercised and I relaxed. Oars extended, symmetrical. Sculling. Leaning forward, dipping, catching the water, pulling. Harnessing core muscles, arm muscles. Eyes open, sighting a straight line. Core and arms subtly straightening an arc. Sometimes catching a blade. Sometimes bumping hands or oars. But mostly the palliative pull of sunny exercise and cool air. The sounds of water sloshing, dripping. Oar locks creaking. Canada geese flying south, high overhead. Shoreline whispers. A squirrel dropping acorns through trees. A woodpecker drumming. My beautiful bride just barely breaking a sweat. Our Labrador retriever sniffing stories carried on the lake breeze. Sculling into autumn…
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