I looked upon a lake-shore covered in red clay. The morning sun had risen a few hours before, but was hidden by a strong overcast. The frogs and birds had yet to disappear into the trees, still singing their songs in the chilled, early air.
I walked along the shoreline on a path tread by recent hikers. The path cut here and there over shallow tree roots and uncovered stones. Pine bristles and twigs covered the path and snapped under my feet.
The trail moved closer to the lake, taking me down to the edge of the water. Morning winds had swept the dawn’s fog from the top of the lake, but left it still with tiny ripples fluttering towards the deep waters. The color of the water was deep green in the center, changing to a crystal blue at the water’s edge. I could see straight down in the water past 10 feet in spots. Fallen tree trunks sat motionless in shallow bottoms with small perch swimming around them.
The path then led me to a small cove. An area nearby had been cleared above the bank, probably used as a camping spot by previous hikers. I looked out across the lake, going far back to the distant hills. So far I couldn’t make out the individual trees on the opposite side of the lake. Besides small critters, no other sounds could be heard. A calmness lay on top of the lake. A silence so sacred, one was afraid to disturb it.
I gazed at the site and once more took in the lake’s quiet majesty surrounded by pine trees lining the shore with a grey sky above. I turned from the lake and continued on down the path.