The anticipation for the day after tomorrow's trip is great. I love a good road trip ~ the sunrise or sunset, the wind, the music, the time to think, to talk, or to be silent. Looking forward to the week to come at the cabin, and that old familiar smell of wool and wood and mothballs when we open the door. The pine needles underfoot, and the hollow noises under the tree roots along the shore. The waves lapping and licking at the seaweedy stones. The booming and clacking of the dock as the dogs run along it. Bare feet and sweaters. Corduroys and cotton. Paperbacks cracked open and journals written in. Recipes lined up on the counter and baking begun in the late afternoon. The canadian radio tuned in and stories from the provinces listened to.
We're still so lucky to have our dogs, Donovan and Lucy, come. They're getting old and I treasure each trip with them. They'll know where we are when the car hits the old sand road on the way to the lake. The birches will shine their white trunks, the fox may show, and the Queen-Anne's Lace will be bobbing alongside as we drive slow to keep the dust down. A few miles in and we'll all be craning our necks for the first glimpse of the water, the ripples black on blue. We'll drive down past the Great Blue Heron who is hunting frogs in the lagoon, and see the turtles on the logs and pull up under the cedars which are full of spiders spinning webs. The old licheny stones of the cabin, and its old dark logs will beckon to us from up on the hill, and the dogs'll scoot up the stone steps, around the corner, and there it will be. Every morning, evening and afternoon. The lake, spread out in a semicircle around the peninsula of the cabin's land, and the pine-needly path leading down to the dock and the red squirrels. The lake, rippling and whispering all the time, whether it's windy or storming or sunny. We can see it from the porch and from the kitchen and from the table.
When we go into town in the middle of the week, just for a change, we'll not get a minute or two away when I'll begin to wonder why we're going in. And the whole time we're there food shopping, I'll be hurrying to get finished, feeling like I'm wasting time I'll never get back. Wanting to get back within sound of the freshness of the water.
We leave early Friday, while Cedar's asleep. We're not taking much. Just our old comfy soft clothes, a stack of bedding and books, a few favorite recipes and every onsie Cedar still fits into. (He weighed in yesterday at 15lb 14oz. He's 10 weeks today).
Anticipation is the stuff the soul is made of.