Porcupine Journals - Day 2

"Open your eyes to stillness. Time suspended to the rhythm of raindrops dimpling the rooftop. And when the rain dies the deafening roar of silence. Hidden in a cocoon of mossy hemlocks and curly paper-birch boughs. Primordial.

It's an overcast stormy day. A 100% chance of rain the local forecast says. Visiting the Lake of the Clouds strong winds began to gust. At the summit overlook its force almost bowls me over, like the roar of winds on the open sea. It feels cool, wet, fresh - exhilarating and alive. Streaming over all the nooks of your body, pulling on your hood, and fingering the crevices in your sleeves to lick bare skin. Covered in goosebumps..

Below on the lake the winds make ripples across its surface like gusts through a wheat field. From it's mouth a river meanders in beautiful, loopy contours through the valley. And beyond the low green ridges of the Porkies sit expectantly under a dark stormy sky. We watch the storm approach. The wind shrieks and groans violently. Fat, cold raindrops splatter from different directions - sideways and up and down. And the black vultures soaring over the valley can barely maintain their control. Swooping down to lower heights.

As the storm broke we raced down, but got distracted by big oyster mushrooms on the hillside. We harvest one huge fleshy specimen there in the rain. Sawing it off the tree trunk with a pocket knife. Back at the cabin the creek has risen more still, and the rain continues to fall on a day whose light refuses to fade. It feels like a long day in the arctic summer. The closest I have ever felt or imaged at least - here in the North Woods on the summer solstice.

We made a fire in the woodstove and dried our clothes by the hearth. I read and layed on the bed listening to the trickle of water everywhere outside. And later we cooked up our oyster mushrooms with garlic and pesto over pasta. Mopped up with bread and washed down with red wine."