About twenty years ago, at the end of a long portage in Algonquin Provincial Park, I saw an older man sitting at the edge of the water. As I took the canoe off my shoulders and laid it down, he half turned and smiled a brief, almost embarrassed smile. I walked down, washed my face in the cold water and then sat a few feet away.

He looked to be mid-seventies. Sitting by the lake, and later sharing a campfire, he told me a little of his story.

This was his last time on this portage, his favorite he said, and his last Algonquin trip. He had been coming here since his teens. Now even getting in and out of a canoe was difficult.

He noticed that I had a solo canoe and asked me if I was paddling alone. He tried to come up every year, always alone, he said, and usually now in late fall when the park was empty and the leaves a kaleidoscope of color. And almost no bugs.

Northern lakes and rivers had been a primary source of peace in his life. He was saying good-bye after decades of foggy sunrises on remote lakes, moose, wolves howling and clear nights when you could see millions of stars. I asked him if this final trip was sad for him. No, not really. Maybe in a week or two. For now, he was just absorbing the beauty one last time, creating memories to carry him through the remaining years of his life, and thinking back on the memories he had accumulated.

We shared a few minutes of silence, and then he said goodnight, got up, and went into his tent. Before I awoke in the morning, he was gone.

. . .

If you are a long-time reader of Heron Dance, and recognize this story from an earlier post or publication, you’re right. I’m reusing some of the material that means the most to me in the creation of my next book, Meditations on Nature: The Beauty of Wild Places. As part of that process, in order to get the book done, I’m simultaneously using that art and writing in A Pause For Beauty.

. . .

Below, covers under consideration for the new book. Let me know if you have a favorite.