I stand atop the small cliff, shading my eyes and channeling explorers of old. A few tree branches stand between the beautiful view and me. They are my party guests, covering my eyes and counting one…two…
I push aside the leafy fingers, drawing aside the velvet theater curtain to reveal the scenery. Only this scenery, it was made by God’s hands.
The sky is a light grey, merging imperceptibly with the darker hue of the water at the horizon line. As if the two were holding hands, united.
The boulders and stones scattered generously along the shore sit comfortable, snuggling under the caressing grey blanket of the sky.
All this lack of pigment may sound suffocating, yet my view of the Lake Superior shore is merely calming. It’s even freeing, like it had taken me by the hand and was pulling me towards paradise.
To top it off, the white noise of the waves and the frigid darkness of the water blend romantically, concocting the pristine grey that is my awe.
Never in my life have I been presented with monochromatic beauty on such a scale. Some might argue it as a non-descript shade, but the grey I see before me is truly wonderful, blanketing me in serenity.
The grey I see before me is alive, sharp, and vivid. An injection of emotion into my veins.
The grey I see before me is lethargic, fluid, and luxurious. The soft underbelly of a sun-warmed lazy old cat stretched long in the window seat on a sunny afternoon.
At Lake Superior, the grey that is the landscape is my bliss.