It’s been blazing hot and incredibly humid in central Ontario over the last few weeks, and the days head don’t indicate that a cool-down is coming any time soon. Despite the heat, the garden is looking great with strong showing from the usual seasonal suspects – mini roses, daylilies, astilbe, coneflowers and various assorted containers brimming with petunias, marigolds, dahlias and other annuals. The deer are giving me a run for my green thumb though, time will only tell who will win this battle.
The local beaver hut is no longer ice-bound, no doubt allowing it’s occupants more freedom to get out and about (while respecting social distancing edicts of course).
Several v-shaped honking masses flew overhead as I was driving home yesterday morning, luckily I was able to capture some of the action.
Looking rather ominous
I’ve often wondered if water has memory. Does water flowing downstream via waterfalls, rapids and streams remember from where it came? When freshwater meets saltwater, do both waterbodies acknowledge the other as foreign? There’s something mesmerizing and awe inspiring about water that goes far beyond its life-giving properties. Water calms, beckons, intimidates, thrills and overwhelms.
I’ve lived on the water’s edge in Central Ontario for more than 45 years and to this day I am filled with wonderment and joy each morning as I look out upon the lake. The lake is always beautiful, always calling me to come sit on the dock, walk on the shore and look at the waves or the mirrored images shining brightly on a still morning.
I feel equally small standing at the ocean’s edge as at the lake’s shore. There’s no doubt that home is where the heart is and for me, home and water take up equal space in my heart. The lake will be here long after I’m gone from its shore, I can only hope that it will remember me.