The ships on the big lake are starting to hug the shore, more than before, in anticipation of the North Wind. The slowly setting sun gleams on the forecastle (fo'c'sle) as the ship is upbound for Duluth. Pardon my alliteration. Must be reading too much poetry lately.
Yesterday the Cooker and I took a stroll through the woods looking for any mushrooms that might have made themselves available after the recent rains. We found woods sculpture that we had left behind at another time. I call this "Bolt on a Stump" because it's a bolt on a stump. Clever, eh?
For most of us, there is only the unattended
Moment, the moment in and out of time,
The distraction fit, lost in a shaft of sunlight,
The wild thyme unseen, or the winter lightning
Or the waterfall, or music heard so deeply
That it is not heard at all, but you are the music
While the music lasts.