I like the old stone cathedrals, and have visited almost every one standing in England over the last few decades. Standing in front of thick Norman columns, bathed in the light of tall panes of stained glass, or craning my neck to see the keystone in the arched ceilings always fills me with a sense of wonder that such things exist.
But it is hard to find cathedrals on a regular basis, especially in campgrounds. That’s where water comes in. And a kayak.
Paddling out on a quiet lake early in the morning, letting the rising sun warm me as life awakens all around me, that’s something else. The fish jump, the blue heron flies, the birds call to one another. I sit in the middle of it all, still and quiet.
It’s a time for reflection. Time to breathe. Time to be slow. Hear that still, small voice inside me that guides my path.
I paddle just far enough to be in my own peaceful place where I can leave the worries and anxieties of normal life behind me for a while. They sit on the shore waiting for me, but while I’m out here, they can’t touch me.
Being on the water, early morning, that’s my church.
A lake is a landscape’s most beautiful and expressive feature. It is Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature
Henry David Thoreau