I was back in Ontario and for the briefest of stints, Buffalo, recently on my annual pilgrimage to “The Cottage”.  I tried a new mode of transportation — the bus.  I wouldn’t normally consider this but 1) I have never taken the bus to Buffalo so I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into, and 2) it was $1.  That’s right $1 each way.  So, off I went on my overnight bus journey to Buffalo.  The bus route was actually direct to Toronto with the one brief stop in Buffalo (although I dont think this qualifies as “direct” but I digress).  I was the only one to get off at 4 a.m., the rest continued on to their international destination.

My younger brother enthusiastically (ok, not really) picked me up at the bus depot (which admittedly made me uncomfortable, there were hobos! Lots and lots of hobos!  Okay, maybe not “lots”, but enough to make me feel like a suburban white chick with no self-defense skills).  We grabbed some coffee and headed up to the Peace Bridge to cross into Canada.  We talked for the entire trip, no lulls, no silences, no strained conversation.  I love my brothers.  It was strange arriving at the cottage when the sun was coming up….it was like the hundreds of other trips we’ve made, except in reverse.   I spent the week with my younger brother mostly, enjoying his company, catching up.

The things that I cling to are the things that result in a visceral response.  The way the wind catches my hair and the sweet sweet smell reminds me that this is how air is supposed to smell.  How when I’m in the kayak and I let my hand trail across the meniscus of the lake, the water somehow feels soft, it’s cool and refreshing and beckons me to jump in and envelope me.  The night descends like a velvet cloak, tinges of light blue, navy blue, dark blue, black, fall and embrace.  The stars, how I forget about stars while living here in the city!!  They punch through the blackness as night descends; ever and ever, more and more.

The moon rising on Big Hawk Lake

I sit on the dock, water lapping on the wood, blanket clutched around me, dew clinging, appearing from a mysterious nowhere.  I look to the night sky and think. I look to the night sky and wonder.  I look to the night sky and try to finally decide if where I am and what I’m doing is where I’m supposed be and what I’m supposed to be doing.

Being home – being around my family – being in this place that makes me feel whole makes me realize that the life I lead is not complete.  I leave apart of myself in this place every time I visit.  I am irrevocably changed by this place, by it’s beauty, it’s serenity, it’s suggestion of possibility.

I always leave wondering: how long will it take before I end up here for good?