We paddled down the Saco River, our canoe cutting through the still water, the beach-bound ripples breaking the silence with their delicate lapping. Fireworks of foliage – reds, oranges, yellows – greeted us around every bend.
We were headed for a secluded island we’d visited this past summer. A place that hosted an afternoon of sun-soaked reading, sharing thoughts, and wading in the cool mountain water. The site of what became scrawled memories in my journal, begging to be revisited come Autumn.
And we were doing just that. Taylor at the helm, guiding with patience and excited anticipation for the journey ahead.
We’d packed light. Or tried to. Backpacks, sleeping pads, a tent to lie beneath the stars. Some firewood and Taylor’s guitar for the evening ahead. And coffee for the morning (an essential, ya know?). Eventually, we came upon the sandy shore. Remnants of a driftwood fire hinting at treasured memories made earlier this season. It was the perfect place to call ours for the evening. We bumped and jostled through a burst of white caps, and paddled hard toward the riverside.
With Mt.Washington looming in the distance, we nestled in for the night.
There’s something about being in nature, largely isolated from the monotony of human-made synthetics, that feeds the soul and makes us feel a little more alive.
Love, your friend,