Last week Tom and I wearily stepped away from work, home projects, world and local news, and slipped into joyous simplicity on the south shore of Lake Superior.

My inner kid, sensing her chance, seized every possible moment.

I sat on a dock, cooling hot feet and legs by swinging and splashing them in cold lake water.

I rested in a hammock among the maples and poplars not far from the bank, rocking and staring up at leaves and sky, listening to birdsong, and breathing in fresh lake scent carried by the breeze.

I dropped down on a beach, sank my toes in the sand while I watched ants and other little bugs explore the soft mounds, and then created a crab of sand for another beach-lover to find.

I swam and amused myself in the cold clear lake–twirling, floating, rolling like a sea otter, twisting, jumping, splashing, laughing.

I roamed the meadow for wildflowers until I could fill a small vase for our cabin table.

I spent nearly three hours wading up and down in the swift current of the shallow Siskiwit River.  Soothed by the roaring voice of the rushing river–and occasionally adding my own–I dipped in and out of the larger waterfalls until I was thoroughly wet, cool and happy.

I ate local fish—smoked, fried, chowdered. And locally-made ice cream.

In the evening at the cabin table I drew and colored simple designs.

Late at night I gazed at the Milky Way and watched (and saw!) meteors.

I am home rested and refreshed. Reminded how important these kinds of simple, sensuous joys are to my heart. Wherever I am.

Did you get a chance to let your inner child/open heart/sensuous body take over for an extended time this summer? I’d love to hear what you did and if any surprises ensued.

This poem by Wislawa Szymborska comes to mind:

A Note

Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on sand,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur; 

to tell pain
from everything it’s not; 

to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes;

An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held with the lamp switched off;

and if only once
to stumble on a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,

mislay your keys in the grass;
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;

and to keep on not knowing
something important

 (Photos by A. Peek or T. Ehlinger)