I didn’t find a Bible in the cabin where we stayed, but then I wasn’t really expecting to. We did get introduced from a distance to a little redheaded boy named Gideon, wasn’t expecting that either.
In the electronic version of a novel I’d left at home I’d just read about religious people over a century ago opening the good book at random for instant guidance and inspiration. I wanted to give it a try.
There was adequate comforting and amusing inspiration to be found without it: In the squeak of the screen door as we shooed the bold chipmunk back outside, the flutter of the chickadee wings as they flitted about the covered porch and the butterfly that landed on my sunny ankle.
When we first stepped into the cabin we were pleased with how the big table had been rotated 90 degrees. Somebody had a good idea. Later, we moved the floor lamp a couple feet and had a similar sense of that’s much better.
I texted a few people as we were leaving cell range that I’d think of them while skipping rocks. Admittedly, my luck improved considerably after consuming half of my favorite North Shore cream ale. I had by far the best success with one that I said out loud looked like a communion wafer.
The next morning I was a little concerned, but standing on my tiptoes and reaching all the way to the back on the top shelf I did find my favorite mug. I carefully carried it down to the shore, using the convenient shrub branch for a handle as I checked the stability of the stepping stones.
Doing kitchen inventory, my husband found four almost identical simple metal vegetable peelers that he gathered on a the handle of a wooden spoon, which reminded me of a string of fish. My various brownish scarves made me think of fur pelts.
I open a book about insights, happening on a page about a sense of “lightness and buoyancy” indicates a connection to divine energy versus being too caught up in your own drama. With that in mind, I looked back at a few seconds of video I’d taken earlier that morning of sunrise light dancing on the rippling water.