Here's another guest post, since I haven't been up to anything much too exciting of late, from my dear friend Margo, who wrote of a recent kayak outing. We all have those favorite places we visit over and again, savoring subtle differences in weather and season and relaxing in the familiarity of scene. This is one of hers. This afternoon I woke from a nap with an overwhelming desire to
go out in my kayak, so I put on the racks, hefted the kayak onto my car and
away I went.It was 7:00 p.m. and I knew that my time was limited, but I had the
perfect place to go visit – my old friend, the Dover Reservoir.As I slid my boat into the water I knew I was in for a special time. The boat moved effortlessly as my body got into the rhythm of pull-pull-pull.  I love the feel of the paddles digging into the brown, organic water and the warmth of my muscles as they propel me forward. As I moved under the Route 9 bridge and into the wilds of my special place the early evening, dusk light gave an incredible beauty to the thick trees and brush that crowd the water.  The surface was mirror-flat and reflected the greenery that lined it.  A cornucopia of greens – emerald, chartreuse, bright, and dark – greeted me, and splotches of yellow, orange, purple, and red added flavor.  The feathery leaves reflected on the water’s surface in an overwhelming abundance with a clarity that blurred the boundaries.The smooth surface was the playground of racing water striders, and the continuum was interrupted only by fish jumping to catch their evening meal.  Above the surface, dragonflies danced their mating ritual.
A pair of cormorants were the first friends to greet me, their wings spread drying in the warm evening air.  They allowed me the opportunity to watch without
paying much attention to me.  They had better things to think about.As I continued paddling I came across a majestic Great Blue Heron stalking his
prey along the marshy edge.  I might have missed him, but his grand size and
presence made him unavoidable.  As herons are my favorite to observe, I
tried my luck at how close I could get… 15 feet, 12 feet, 10 feet… in the
background an owl hoots, but I remain as silent and watchful as possible.  He
had enough of me and flew above me to his next spot, looking to dine in
peace.  His beauty and grace were awe striking.By this time the beauty and peace that surrounds me has sunk into every pore, I am moved beyond words to tears of wonder.  My journey continues and I come across a lone Canadian goose. Where is its mate, as geese mate for life, I believe?  Is he/she lonely?  It seemed to enjoy my company as I sat watching it nibble at the bed of lily pads.  It is always nice to eat with someone, rather than
alone.Along my way I passed many other visitors but I could not bring
myself to break this silence with the tingy sound of human voice so I
remained unsociable. Maybe I would greet them with pleasantries if I passed
them later. Through lily pad bed my boat cuts a path announcing me
to others that may pass through, but only briefly, as the path will
be filled back in as each leaf returns to its original place.  The bright
yellow and pink flowers have closed their heads for the evening, waiting for
the bright sun of the new day to open their faces.I come face to face with the ugliness of human intervention as a string of buoys
announces a part of the reservoir is off limits. The bright orange floating balls are garish and out of place, but I respect their message and begin exploring the opposite bank.I pass a pair of fishermen casting their lines.  My silence is broken by their hellos and my reprieve ends as I begin my reentry into the human world.  I acknowledge their greetings with my own, and the usual but true sentiment of what a beautiful night and an inquiry of how they fare, are the fish biting?  Alas, they are not.  I continue.  Not far ahead I bump into the answer to a mystery I had asked myself, would I see my beaver friends again?  Here they are, paddling doggy-style along the bank, head up, tail floating along the surface.  I think I surprised them as they did me, and a slap to the water’s surface and a great dive removes them from sight.  My night has been made.

The light is dimming and the sky is gaining the pinkish hue of a
fisherman's delight, it is time to begin my return to my car, but not in a
hurry.  I pass the same elderly couple I did before, both fishing, and the
man puffing on a pipe sending great plumes of smoke in the air.  I make my
pleasantries and wish them a good evening.
When I set out I did not expect to be greeted by more than an old friend and
a peace of mind, what I found was my own God and communion.  I broke bread
with my world, my family, and was given a glimpse of my heaven and utopia.  
I am a part of something greater than myself.