Mountain Lake

As I drove home from spending a couple days in the mountains, I began counting how many lakes I had seen and realized that there were too many to count. Lakes are everywhere in these mountains, from long lakes with finger-like coves to small shallow lakes. Some of the small lakes could be mistaken for ponds if not for that small brown official sign giving it some sort of wildly original name like Fifth Lake. The woods are especially beautiful this time of year, when whole trees turn bright red or whole groves bright yellow, and whole branches of bright red-orange glow vividly against the dark green conifers, but almost every trail has as its destination a glimpse of a lake. Trails up mountains lead inevitably to a bare rock where hikers can sit down to rest and look down at a lake. Even the road winds its way close to the edge of lake after lake, as most of the camps, summer cottages, and old inns are clustered along lake shores.

It seems somehow that humans are drawn to bodies of water. When I am hiking, I love the smell of pine needles and fallen leaves, and I enjoy the spectacular foliage and the green mosses and ferns along the trail edges, but somehow, I am always looking for the nearest lake. There is something wonderful about coming out of the shady, thick woods and seeing an expanse of still water that reflects the sky, the trees, and the mountains.