Taking Notes on Lake Shore Drive
PostPosted: Sat Oct 02, 2010 8:29 pm
"For almost a year now, something in me has been drawn to go and sit down next to the water. I don't even want to do anything when I get there – just sit. There is something about sound of those perpetual waves that is almost healing, and even gives me a sense of what might be joy.
I sit down here on the edge of the lake to read and recompose my thoughts; but my eyes keep getting drawn away from the text by those waves. I have been meaning to go to the beach for some time now, almost a year, for the same thing – to sit down by the water, but haven't made it there yet. Now it is starting to get cold again.
The marina, just a small dock really, is filled with small boats with their sails drawn down to keep them in their places, each marked with a buoy. Their age-torn flags whip in the wind and clank against the tall masts – tinkering like a whole host of tin bells from another realm.
A few sailors coast past me into the bay – wearing windbreakers because of the growing cold late in the day. I wish I had been where they were coming back from.
I watch a seagull take off into flight and immediately get thrown off course by the continuous gusts of lakeside wind. He regains himself and flies away.
A jet soars overhead, east, out of O'Hare.
The sailboats bob like corks in the rough tide, tugging at their anchors and turning into the wind, trying to sail away, even if no one else comes with them.
Even though I am sitting on the cold concrete with skyscrapers behind me, and wrappers and dead leaves blowing around at my feet, this small taste of beauty renews my heart; peace in heart and peace of mind.
I still want to go away somewhere, but being here restores my spirit enough for it to carry through until I finally can. I put my unread book back into my bag.
All those anxious thoughts, by the wind and the waves, fly away."
[more at jimrogers.me]
I sit down here on the edge of the lake to read and recompose my thoughts; but my eyes keep getting drawn away from the text by those waves. I have been meaning to go to the beach for some time now, almost a year, for the same thing – to sit down by the water, but haven't made it there yet. Now it is starting to get cold again.
The marina, just a small dock really, is filled with small boats with their sails drawn down to keep them in their places, each marked with a buoy. Their age-torn flags whip in the wind and clank against the tall masts – tinkering like a whole host of tin bells from another realm.
A few sailors coast past me into the bay – wearing windbreakers because of the growing cold late in the day. I wish I had been where they were coming back from.
I watch a seagull take off into flight and immediately get thrown off course by the continuous gusts of lakeside wind. He regains himself and flies away.
A jet soars overhead, east, out of O'Hare.
The sailboats bob like corks in the rough tide, tugging at their anchors and turning into the wind, trying to sail away, even if no one else comes with them.
Even though I am sitting on the cold concrete with skyscrapers behind me, and wrappers and dead leaves blowing around at my feet, this small taste of beauty renews my heart; peace in heart and peace of mind.
I still want to go away somewhere, but being here restores my spirit enough for it to carry through until I finally can. I put my unread book back into my bag.
All those anxious thoughts, by the wind and the waves, fly away."
[more at jimrogers.me]