I see the Superior Gitche Gumee.
The clouds slowly descend after a lazy drizzle fills the air with grey.
From atop this hill I look down,
Upon the steely blue-grey waters
Churning with eagerness to throw themselves upon the rocks of the shore.
As my eyes trace the horizon covered by a soft cloud curtain,
A soft smile sneaks up on me as I realize
I can't tell where the skies meet those waters
As they drop off the edge of the earth
Into nothingness.
The determined flowers stretching up from the bushes press upon me
A scent unfamiliar,
And as I walk away, I look back to see one lone rock
Staring back at me from among the waves.
Across the highway, where the drivers speed past
(As they presumably do every day),
I view the mist-covered forests pouring over the hillside
Like some great verdant blanket.
A pair of older men stand along the rocky shoreline below,
Swapping stories and secrets
As they skip stones.
I was way up north, and I saw this scene as I stopped to look at the fog rising up from the lake, and I felt this surge of ideas coming into me, and warming me from the outside in, into my core. I had no choice but to write.