Lots of heat this summer, and the whole lakeshore region was more dry than normal--so I was told. And then came buckets of rain--eight to ten inches in a week or so. Then a return to heat, so vivid it birthed gadzillions of mosquitoes that kept people indoors. Seriously, it was an angry mob. They were everywhere.
I went, as always, to the lakeshore at sunrise, an exercise which normally nurtures the soul. Saturday, mostly what I did was bat mosquitoes. Inside of a couple of minutes I swear I'd taken on at least a half dozen bites up top, where a bald head get mushroomy when the swells arrive.
The lake, mostly asleep, was unbothered and traditionally gorgeous, a pastel quilt seamless as far as I could see. But I conceded to the mosquitoes, turned around to return to the car, then noticed the sun rising and couldn't leave.
The sun's generosity crowns everything in early morning. There's gold everywhere.
I think I could deftly slip the shot below into a collection of frames from Siouxland, and nobody would know the difference--a single tree against a wide open sky. This one reminds me of the old line about the prairie as a sea of grass, moving in the wind like waves. I could have grabbed this picture anywhere in South Dakota.
Maybe. Maybe it's got to be lakeshore. Whatever its identity, it's just plain beautiful, and I knew it when I shot it. Some, you just know are going to be stunners.
This one I couldn't snap on the Great Plains. It's all lakeshore.
Stunning is what's always there at big dawn. This morning, a couple of days later, I'm still thankful for that Saturday morning blessing, busy as it was with those lousy mosquitoes.
Here's what Calvin says: "When we behold the heavens, we cannot help but be elevated, by what we see, to him who is their great Creator, and find in those marvelous heavens, evident proof of his providence."