Lupus in fibula

Why not? Since I was a tourist for a brief time, here are three photographs from my excursion. There are no crashing waves to see because the Manitou of Lake Superior gave me perfect weather. The first photo is, without a doubt, one of the most recognizable sites in Minnesota. It is Split Rock Lighthouse on the north shore of Lake Superior. I have much the same photo as this from my only previous visit to the site. I was 11-years-old at the time, so it has been a while. When I think of it, my photograph from then might be "superior" to this one. The next photo shows a view from atop the lighthouse. The final photo is of Gooseberry Falls, which lies down the road a few miles from the lighthouse. The falls consist of three or four levels or tiers, of which this is the upper. If you are curious to see the panoramic view, pop the photos to their full size.

I believe I need to work for a while longer

This is the wolf's tale of the past few days.

I rented a kayak and did a bit of paddling around a Lake Superior inlet for a few hours. I have hundreds, probably thousands, of hours in a canoe, but these were my first in a kayak. I still prefer the canoe for anything short of going over waterfalls, and to those who do such stunts, I say, get a life.

I fired 100 rounds for fun from my Colt 1911 Gold Cup Series 70 pistol (the best of the 1911 line) at nondescript targets -- plastic bottles on land and water (please, do not chastise me), at rocks, at targets attached to dead trees. And, to those who tell me to get a life, I laugh at their naiveté.

I sat on rock beaches and on sand beaches. The weather was perfect, with temperatures in the 60s; with high, billowy clouds, thunderheads at times, always visible, both white and dark, but almost always with sunlight present.

I jumped from a boulder into 25 or 30 feet of water and sank to the bottom, opened my eyes and looked at the light above. I drank water from the Lake. I mixed water from the Lake with brandy (sorry), and drank a salute to those who have loved the Lake before me. I slept for a while on a warm, sandy beach, and I dreamed.

I think the Manitou of the Lake welcomed my arrival by shutting off the rain that had fallen during most of my drive there at the instant I first came within sight of the "big water." I think it displayed its anger at me for my departure by unleashing an absolutely torrential rainfall just as I stopped to take a last photograph from the final ridgeline before the Lake is gone from view. The rain was so fierce I could not see to drive for 25 minutes and, when it lessened a bit, kept up with an off-and-on onslaught for 50 miles distance from the Lake.

I believe I need to work for a while longer before adjourning into an absolute Sanctuary. It was most difficult to turn the car around and to return home. There is nothing at home. There is nothing in the past. All that exists is in the future. The future is work. The future is a woman who has an instinctual sense of what it is to be a lady, and who wishes to be one. The future is a house on a hilltop or, maybe, on a shoreline next to big water. The future is beauty in art and music and literature. The future is a refuge for wildlife. The future is opposition to the socialists now in power in Washington, D.C. The future is belief and faith in the strength of my own right arm -- nothing more, nothing less.

Here endith July 2009 ....

One more from Dokken

Farewell, to the band known as Dokken, for a while, at least, but not until taking the time for one more song. This piece is entitled, "The Hunter." It seems to me this song demonstrates that stage performances are designed for the eye and not for the ear. View this song as the band performs it with heavy metal guitars, percussions and antics. Then, view it again, and imagine how it would sound to the ear if performed with the accompaniment of soft guitars and, maybe, a piano, and sung in a gentle voice. With only a few variations, it would then become a love song.

"All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."

William Shakespeare
"As You Like It" Act 2, scene 7, 139-143