Drift on a mirror-still northwoods lake just after dawn. The water is glass under pale grey light. A pair of loons call back and forth across the bay, long and tremulous, the sound carrying clear over the water.
Mist lifts in slow sheets off the surface. A single paddle dips somewhere far down the shoreline. Pine tops hold the first warm light.
The air smells of cold water and balsam. No wind yet, no engines, only the long unhurried voice of loons over a motionless lake. Perfect for wilderness lovers, lake-country dreamers, canoe-country sleepers, and listeners seeking layered loon-and-water masking through the night.
The calls fade and return in long unhurried cycles, each one rolling across the open water and dying into silence. This is the northwoods lake at its most still - not dramatic, not overwhelming, only the soft breathing of a lake at the edge of waking. The mist thickens over the bay as morning holds its breath. Place the phone face-down, close your eyes, and let the loons find you wherever you are.
