This is my view at the moment. It’s only my second morning here and yesterday’s was plagued by that rarest of conditions up here—humidity. But this morning, order has been gloriously restored. 67 degrees and a cool dry breeze drifts through these screens. The only ripple on the lake is being made by a single swimmer, slowly cutting through the silky water, a wide v-shaped wake drifting behind. The nerve of that guy, reminding the rest of us how out of shape and lazy we are. He probably will swim five miles then head back to his camp and eat plain yogurt for breakfast. Me? I’m thinking about doing some pushups, then I’ll broil up four English muffin halves, slather them with peanut butter and jam and thank Almighty God that I will never be forced to choke down yogurt in this or any other life.
It’s hard to concentrate on writing this blog out here on this porch. Except for triathlon dude, every sound I’m hearing is being made by something other than human beings. I am surrounded by a chorus of birdsongs, four specific melodies that I can pick out and a lone woodpecker tapping away in the distance. Every once in a while a loon call drifts across the lake. The clouds in the distance are slowly taking on a pink and orange glow which, blending in with the Carolina blue morning sky, reminds me of the cotton candy stand at the State Fair. Now that buzz-kill bro is gone the lake is still again, the only blemish coming from insects touching down here and there, their presence sending tiny rings out on the water’s surface. Now, another woodpecker, closer and from the north, this one whacking a softer tree. It’s almost unbearably beautiful.
I got my first sales numbers in from my publisher for A Life of Dreams. They weren’t very good. It was only for the month of May but still, I couldn’t help being disappointed. I’m a competitive guy. I’ve generally succeeded at most things I’ve taken on in this life, so I naturally took the low sales numbers personally. But then last night I got a text from a friend who wanted to let me know that her and her husband had just finished reading the book and they both loved it. She was by no means the first reader to tell me that the story had brought her to tears. The encouragement of her words helped my sour mood with the sales numbers. It also reminded me that I am not even halfway through spending six weeks in Maine and feeling sorry for myself is a very bad look.
And here comes Mister Showoff back from his Olympic trial run…I must say that his swimming stroke looks quite awkward and choppy. Wait..hold on…it’s a woman. Great. Oh, and now that I’ve got the binoculars out I can see that she is a quite elderly woman. Wonderful. Yeah, well…but is she happy? That’s what I want to know. But, even if she is, there’s a bowl of plain yogurt in her immediate future. Pssshh! No thanks!
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