“Good morning”, he said.
He greeted me with a bright smile enough to warm me up from the crispy morning temperature. Its 7:00 in Algonquin Park and the world was sheathed in autumn mist. The hazy hills and dales nearby are nowhere in sight and I had the feeling that, they, too, together with the rest of the world, were still snoozing.
The canoer got himself ready for a morning ride. He stretched his arms and legs and I heard his bones crackled. He gingerly pushed his brand new-looking canoe with all his might and hastily got on board. He began paddling while I began shooting from behind. He was calm and rowed gently into the impenetrable mist that rose out of the lake. He vanished swiftly like something had pulled him into the pit of immaculate whiteness.
I sat motionless in one of the spare canoes on the lakeshore—admiring the loveliness of the colorless vicinity around me. I was alone, deep in the solitude of my own thoughts.
Morning in Algonquin Park
Lake of Two Rivers Camping Ground