I spent uncounted hours sitting at the bow looking at the water and the sky, studying each wave, different from the last, seeing how it caught the light, the air, the wind; watching patterns, the sweep of it all, and letting it take me. The sea. ~ Gary Paulsen

(The mesmerizing wake off my father’s trusty Boston Whaler, on an inky Little Traverse Bay at twilight.)

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One Response to "Postcard from Up North"
  1. Tom says:

    I can hear the deep thrum of the engine and the swirling, roiling sounds of the spreading wake as the horizon receeds and darkness begins its descent. Nightfall at the lake.

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