As sunlight kissed my eyelids, my eyes sluggishly fluttered open, only for me to be jolted into a state of awareness. For the past three months I have awakened to a wall of rich green Adirondack pines and woods filled with crafty little creatures. This morning my pines have been replaced by sage-colored cedars, live oaks, and dry grass.

I got up very early this morning to spend some extra time in solitude on the dock at this Adirondack paradise. It’s my last Sunday here for this summer. It’s a little cloudy this morning, and there is a dimness to the light and a coolness to the air. The distant sound of loons crying out their eerie tune maybe be a reflection of the melancholy feeling I get each year when I leave here.

This morning as I opened my eyes and looked out the window, my sleepy gaze was filled with the abstract shapes and 50 shades of green pine branches and needles. Our bedroom here in the cabin in the woods, near the lake, is a converted screened porch, all glass, and nestled among the trees. It’s like being in a see-through tent outdoors.

There is an odd orb in the sky, shining down on me this warm Sunday morning. We’ve not seen it for most of the summer, other than the week of my Adirondack Publisher’s Invitational. The “summer of rain” has hopefully come to an end, and today, once the kids awaken, I’m looking forward to a lake day with the family, with no agenda.

I’m tired. It's early, and I awoke this morning in spite of wishing for more sleep. It's rare that I wake up tired; today I’m still fatigued after driving about seven hours yesterday. But I was returning to the lake, my muse, the most cherished place in my life, after a few days of stark contrast in the Boston area to provide my son with the educational opportunity of a lifetime: the Congress of Future Scientists and Technology Leaders. It’s an annual event, by invitation only to 7,000 kids from across our land, to get access to and opinions from the great minds of our world. I was pleased to be a fly on the wall and a VIP guest, and pleased to give my son a chance to hang with the luminaries of science.

This morning the rain is pounding the house like Niagara Falls. The noise is deafening, yet somehow makes the house feel more quiet, more secure. It’s almost like a giant hug from nature, and it’s saying, “Stay inside, don’t be in a hurry to go outside to get to your day. Take a day for yourself inside to relax, to read, to think.”