Place Entry Three

Muted Winter

This morning I drove to the Northeast shore of Lake Jovita, seen directly across from the dock. It was cold again, thirty-six degrees, and the blue sky was hidden by snow clouds, a cotton-covered sky that I remembered well from my Maryland childhood. One look and we knew snow would fall soon, when the wet air would linger and tease. I won’t see snow here, though, unless it is a dusting from a dawn snowfall. I’ve seen Florida snow twice in twenty years. It left a half-inch cover on cars and sidewalks until 9:00 a.m. when the sun and rising temperature melted it all. I mourned the loss of white winters as I walked to the lake house for morning meditation.
Fifty yards from the shore, the lake house sits calmly, as quiet as a tomb. The sliding glass door of the shrine room offers a full view of the Abbey, University and orange groves across the heart-shaped lake. Colorful thangkas decorate the walls of the room with blue, gold and red silk fabrics elaborately painted with Buddhist deities. Small, brass bowls with lit candles line the altar. With the fecundity of spring, the vibrant room warmed the colorless scene outside of the sliding glass window.
After practice, I walked down to the lakeshore. The air was still, and the lake looked like stainless steel. There was no sound. Two Sandhill cranes pondered along the shoreline, their tall grey bodies blended with water and sky. Only their red forecrowns broke the monochromatic landscape. One submerged his head into the shallow water while his partner stayed aware of potential predators. After lunching, the 3-foot tall birds walked out of the water onto the grass, like two beautiful women emerging out of the ocean onto the sand, slowly and gracefully. My presence made the cranes nervous. I walked away leaving them and my memories of deep snow behind me.