I was trying to write a story, but it wasn't coming easy – I just wasn't into it and didn't feel like finishing this story this week. I pulled up another story I had already started. I had a good idea what it should be, but again, the words just weren't there, and to force the storyline would do it no justice. There was too much tension and turmoil inside of me, and I couldn't focus. I wanted to go for a drive to clear my head, but my story has to be submitted on Monday to the newspapers that print it.
My van is set up for writing when I travel, so I decided to take off in it for a while. Maybe something would come to me on the road. I drove about twenty miles and pulled off Highway 61 into a familiar wayside that overlooks Lake Superior.
I opened my laptop and began writing yet a third story for today. So many thoughts were running through my mind – I couldn't focus. I got a text from one of the publishers, "Do you have an ETA for your column?" I told him I would have something in thirty minutes – but what? I looked out the window over Lake Superior and thought:
From where I sit, I can see the lake. Her water changes colors daily, sometimes multiple times. The lake is a dreary shade of grey today. At the horizon, it blends into a similar grey, the overcast sky. The water is choppy with whitecaps. Waves are coming in, breaking a substantial distance from the shore. "She's a little rough today."
From where I sit, I could see Split Rock Light House. Her tan bricks didn't show their usual bright luster against the background.
I could see a faint silhouette of an iron ore boat far out on the lake. I wondered if the Captain and crew felt the rough waters the same way a smaller vessel would. A fishing boat or a pleasure boat would certainly get tossed and bounced about in those waves. I suppose that's why there were no other boats on the lake today. Of course, the ship had to be there despite the rough sea - it's their job.
It's just a dismal day – not even the pine trees seemed excited about this day. The ravens and seagulls weren't out flying. I sat and listened to the rain falling on the tin roof of my van. That sound is always soothing. I closed my eyes and saw a vision of another time.
From where I sit, I could imagine the lookout tower which used to be on this site before the state improved the sharp curve in the road. In days of yore, the tourist would pull over here and pay their admission to climb the tower for the best view of the lighthouse.
In my mind, I could see the people, families laughing and having fun on a sunny day. Excited children are running up the steps of the tower. Moms are grabbing their kids by the arm to keep them close, away from the traffic on the road.
I could see the lake with bright blue, smooth waters. Several ships were passing, going to and from destinations unknown. Fishing boats and sailboats played on the lake. Ravens danced in the blue sky, calling out to the people, "Rawk, rawk," Welcome. Seagulls swooped in to see if anyone had anything for them to eat. People wore sunglasses and wide-brimmed hats in the bright sun. Split Rock Lighthouse glowed warmly in the sunshine. Even the trees swayed in the breeze, showing their beautiful shades of green. I felt peace.
From where I sit, not all waters are smooth, not all times are peaceful. Not all days are sunny, nor all skies blue. But from where I sit, I can close my eyes and make them that way.
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