Soundscapes: Morning on Crescent Lake

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Though you cannot see it, there is a palpable, tangible sort of feeling that distinguishes a cool, gray morning from a warm and sunny one. Here on the shores of Crescent Lake, we confront a scene we might not be accustomed to - the clouds are low and the generally eminent sun is barely visible behind them.

The breeze exhaling off the lake carries a chill that feels foreign and strange in this characteristically balmy atmosphere. It's a two-hands-around-the-mug kind of morning, but that might just be what makes it so captivatingly peaceful.

The gentle songbirds (and the more boisterous ones) seem to have taken it on the beak, this melancholy departure from their usual view. No longer competing for attention with a glorious, vibrant sunrise, their song seems to reverberate across Crescent Lake, filling the space like an amphitheater.

The slow and steady ebb and flow of the water is the baseline rhythm to their birdsong harmony. It laps at the rocky shore, through the hollow tunnel beneath the dock, at the boats still tied to the marina.

The same hush and reverence that naturally occurs to us when we enter a church or a museum befalls us Here in this space, where we wouldn't dream of disrupting such tranquility. It is a gift, a moment of calm before whatever chaos awaits us in the ensuing ones. And although faint patches of blue are beginning to peek through the silken, subdued sky, the serenity of this moment is held for us outside of the inevitable rush of time.

Like a reprieve from some long-carried weight, lifted and cast away out onto the water, we are lifted up and away from the usual swirling of thoughts and worries which occupy our minds in all our conscious living. We are suspended, like the water, in gently repeating ripples of beautiful, impenetrable calm.

The breeze is just chilly enough to be invigorating, and just gentle enough to soothe us like the company of a longtime friend. It's almost as if, with every liberating gust, it speaks to us words of contentment and ease, measured reassurances that all is well Here.

The Magic of this place, of this moment in time, is both in its ephemerality and in its forever. Even the birds can sense the sunshine burgeoning against the clouds, its inevitable arrival coming ever closer.

Still, we are fabricating a memory so joyful and so efficacious that it promises to stay With us when we move on. This space will remain impervious, no matter the season or time of day; an unplottable fortress where we can find rest and escape and a momentary reprieve from the blinding, abrasive demands of everyday.

Every step along the shore takes us, not closer to some destination, but closer to a sense of wholeness and renewal. Every deep breath, every lilting breeze, every twitter of avian song, every whisper of revival…they are the audacious Magic of this space.

They are what will call us back, time and again, running or strolling or just being Here. Here, where the cool, gray solace of daybreak holds more Magic than we could have ever known.