This is not my favorite time of year. Too many things are approaching the end of their cycles; too many reminders of what lies ahead — long months when plants are dead or look like it, ice creeps across the water, and I must content myself with brief, bundled-up, visits to our back yard. For those of you who love winter, good for you. I don’t.
But here I am sounding gloomy in August when Goose Lake is alive with drama day and night and our plants are all in full bloom, including another round of roses. Some mornings I catch the reflection of sunrise in the water and it reminds me of how lucky I am each day to be here. To be. And to write about it.