Musings by Tim Scott: Once more to the lake

Somewhere out across the lake just before dawn, a loon warbles its always haunting and mournful call. Shortly, a reply echoes back from a far cove, their shared language ever an enigma.

It is high summer here in New England, and these long midsummer days after the fireworks give no hint of August’s advancing chill. There is no other activity at this hour save for the occasional fisherman, or fisherwoman, who also enjoy the placid stillness of this hour. This is that rare moment in time when all is simply peaceful for a while.