It’s morning on the lake. You can see the sun is already baking the south shore. It glints off the cabin windows and turns the mountains green and gold. It’s early, but the air feels warm. The sunglasses are handy as you plant yourself in the plastic chair by the dock, and take a first sip of coffee. There’s barely a sound. The downlake breeze is dying, ready for the usual midday calm. The water is empty, nothing to see but a gaggle of geese that honk as they take flight. The air grows still. The leaves no longer rustle. There is only a faint smoke haze from the fires across the mountains to the north and south. You might not notice if you weren’t looking for it. For a few precious moments, you are alone on the shore of the most beautiful lake in the world. You think, this may not be how life is meant to be, but for now it is simply wonderful.
Then in the distance, the silence is broken by the faint buzz of approaching marine machinery. It’s definitely the labors of a jet pump pushing some 200-pounder through the chop. You can see its little rooster tail, way over there, disturbing the peace. It’s another Jet Ski, I mean personal watercraft, and frankly I don’t care. To each his own, I say. I grab my novel and between chapters ponder my breakfast options. This day remains simply wonderful, Jet Skis (I mean personal watercraft) notwithstanding.