It is with a sense of sad nostalgia that I write this tonight. As I sit here with the window open, I hear the smooth sound of the waves of Lake Tahoe splashing upon the shore. I feel the bitter, wonderful bite of the icy cold, and see the reflection of white snow upon trees, buildings and ground. Far beyond, I see only twinkling of the distant lights of the far side of the lake. Everything else is eerily quiet, cold and still.
It is the last night here, the last night of my 29th birthday vacation. Tomorrow we will take the long drive back home, back to work and reality. It does feel like the waking of a long and wonderful dream. We've done so much, and so little in our short week here. We've taken a walk through the touristy nature trail, seen salmon swimming up the rapid stream, the fall colors. We toured around the old mansions and homesteads of our fore-bearers, those who came up to enjoy this lake in the past centuries.
We walked up the side of a great mountain, Mt. Tallac, about 5-6 miles by reckoning, along a rocky path. We stopped for lunch at an old resort camp, sat down upon the rock with nothing but the wilds of the mountains, just us for miles and miles. Peanut butter and jelly never tasted so good.
We did a lot of nothing too, sitting and reading. Walking and enjoying the freshly fallen snow. We sat and watched it cascade down, and watched the wind whip up the dark waters of the lake. We ate well, enjoying meals at such wonderful restaurants and home.
At long last though, it is time to go home. I wish we didn't have to leave. I could die tomorrow and probably be very happy. This is what it must feel like to retire, to have no worries or concerns. I could stay up here forever, within the reach of the wilds of nature but also comfortably in civilization. Alas, I cannot for now at least. But here is to dreaming.
No comments:
Post a Comment