A ROOM WITH A VIEW

THE FOG REVEALS OR HIDES ALL, AT ITS PLEASURE

  Tuesday, 6:45 AM. Joan brought me my computer, and I am pleased to be making a post. The lake is again obscured by dense fog.  Earlier the crescent moon had hung in the eastern sky, the foggy atmosphere turning it a ghostly orange.  The fog obscured the rising sun, but it could not stop the burgeoning daylight, which began to appear about four AM, and was fully evidently by five.  We are fast approaching the summer solstice, and the days begin early and last long in this northern latitude.
    Life is totally unpredictable, and it is best to accept that fact and adjust to the circumstances.
   My circumstances could be considered traumatic, or a comedy of errors.  I accept them as the latter and won't go into further detail.  One result of my "incarceration"(hospitalization) has been that I have been given a sixth floor rom with a panoramic view of the Duluth harbor and beyond, where I can watch the thousand-foot ore and grain ships plying the great swells of Gitche Gumee, and also its bird life...geese, ducks, gulls and a few ravens, the latter residents of the tall spruce trees along the lake shore a hundreds yards or more away.
   I have watched one raven return over and over to the top of a tall spruce tree.  He, or perhaps she, also has a "room with a view."  After watching for some time I believe the bird's "room" is a perch or lookout, the actual nest hidden and secure further down in the dense branches of the old tree.
   Some random observations from my own perch over the past week:

• The fog drifts in and out, alternately dense in early morning and then disappearing, to reveal all it had hidden: "Things seen and unseen, known and unknown," a metaphor for the mysteries of life.
• The spruce trees sway and dance in the north wind, while the white caps toss smaller boats to and fro like flotsam on the water.
• Wraith-like, the shape-shifting fog billows over and about the waters, revealing or hiding all at its  pleasure.
• Nine small white power boats, possibly a fishing fleet, head out from the harbor entrance, fanning out at last in groups of three.  One lone, spire-like sail boat remains behind.  The boats appear to be no more than white caps as they recede in the distance.
• What looks like a very small boat sits a half mile off shore, its wind screen glinting on and off in the sun like a beacon, as it bounces about on the choppy water.
• Threading the needle: A laker the length of several football fields steams at ten knots towards the harbor entrance, a concrete channel perhaps three times the length of the ship, and scarcely wider. The ship is deftly piloted into the narrow opening and it quickly passes through this "eye of the needle"into the  safety of the capacious harbor to load or unload its cargo.
• Evening: The waters are becalmed, reflecting the the blue sky and gray-mauve clouds.  The sky is akin to a painter's canvas, the colors applied with broad, sweeping strokes.  The raven sits on its perch, and a few gulls coast by, deftly riding the occasional updrafts.
• The ancient spruces, still visible in the twilight, sway to and fro in the increasing night wind, stately performers in an ancient tribal dance.  Now they are increasingly animated, encouraged in their gyrations by the  strong breeze.  They need chants and drums, and a fire to dance around, to reflect their wild images into the burgeoning darkness.