Words from Pep The guest book of time

Words from Pep

The guest book of time

I slowed and turned left on a single-track dirt road. Grass brushed the sides of my truck before towering pines welcomed me to late afternoon shade. Slow, deliberate, like a lazy raccoon, eyes roaming, sniffing my way along the unknown route I shifted into four-wheel drive and began traveling back in time, ascending the ancient ridge of an Ice Age esker. On either side a steep slope strewn with erratic boulders and cobbles kept me pinched in the sinuous route. My mind’s eye imagined the primeval landscape, remnant glacial blocks, braided streams and a mammoth family following the retreat of the ice northward. Returning to the present I noticed the forest beginning to open. Through the trees I caught sight of the lake and was soon parked near cattails along the shore. Wading into the shallows with fly rod in hand, (the water’s chill took several minutes to get used to) I attached a ‘black gnat’ to the leader and like an inverted pendulum my arm began the rhythmic pitching; gracefully whisking my tiny bait along the reed edge. Time stood still as the cadence of my movements shut down all distraction. There are no barbs on my hooks, and fifteen released panfish later the sun had moved below the horizon allowing a half moon to enchant the lake’s surface. I mused over the passing of time. Having been birthed thousands of years before, this undersized lake was home and refreshment to countless beings as their lives passed and other generations followed. The singing of crickets, call of a nighthawk, lapping of water on stone, cracking of the ice each winter, all these timeless sounds enjoyed for centuries by each living thing playing out its journey. It was an honor this particular day to sign the lake’s guest book registering my short visit into its story. In the twilight I watched the mists that rose from the water’s surface. Like time, they cannot be grasped or held. I had had the privilege of a brief moment in the history of this life source; one like every other that passes and ascends into memory. I thanked the spirit of this lake for its kindness and beauty and returned to my truck behind the cattails. In the moon’s light I retraced my tracks backward in time along the esker and headed home believing eternity would be as this day. www.theteacherwithin.com  ONE WORLD  -  ONE FAMILY OF MAN  -  ONE CREATOR OF ALL