Just took an hour to throw a kayak in the back of the Honda and head down to Union Pond, which is three minutes by car and seven minutes by foot from where I live. I got out of the boat launch by 7:00, and had just time for a leisurely sunset spin around the pond and a little way up the Hockanum, where I saw my second beaver--from about two feet away. I could have touched her head without capsizing.
Not that I go around petting wild rodents. But still.
Gorgeous. The lake was like a mirror, and the glare was only bad until I got into the shadow of the trees. While I paddled my circuit, the sky went from cerulean to cobalt and then periwinkle, and then glowed gold along the western horizon through the trees. I paddled past a dock full of skinny shirtless teenagers, and as I was hauling out, passed a few pleasant words and a wave with a large gentleman with a beautiful voice who was walking alongside his son's bike, and waved to another man sitting in his car watching the sunset.
The teenagers, of course, ignored my existence. It's such hard work being cool.
And now I must buckle on my game face and write four pages of Range of Ghosts.
Tomorrow we're climbing at Chatfield Hollow, and hanging out at the Ragged Mountain Foundation annual picnic. So I have to write early, or write late.
And so it goes.