I’m sitting on my fold up lawn chair overlooking a small, secluded lake. The morning fog is a blanket over the woods. The wind blows just enough to give the lake a nice little chop. I can hear nothing but the sound of a woodpecker tapping on an old rotted out oak tree as the grass around me dance in the wind. The sun makes the lily pads glisten in the light as they rock back and forth across breathtaking dark blue waves. As I look in a daze across the water, it takes my breath away.

The red leaves, orange leaves, yellow leaves, and green leaves are changing and starting to fall. As I stare into the sky, sandhill cranes fly overhead. They appear to be flying fearless and free not thinking twice as they fly by. There’s not a cloud in the sky.

The birds sing and play as they pick up sticks to bring back to their nests; they are preparing for winter. The wind blows leaves off the trees. A frog hops across the rocks lining the water’s edge that are submerged as the waves wash over them periodically. The frog slowly inches out of my view until it finally disappears. The reeds sway back and forth as the wind pushes them. The grass, still wet from the morning dew, puts a nice shiny layer on my camouflage mudboots.

I notice that my chair is starting to lean some. I readjust it, trying to make it sit level again and I begin to think about how grateful I am to have it. It supports me just like my parents support me too. They are always there for me just like my lawn chair.

The wind calms down, and I hear the quack of a duck. The beautiful drake mallard’s head is as dark green as grass on a cloudy day. He flies all by his lonesome; he is probably heading out to feed for the morning.I can’t help but to think about all the mornings I’ve spent in the duck blind. Then a flock of six Canadian honkers whistles by overhead. I reminisce about all the good memories I’ve made with good buddies shooting geese. All the early mornings we’ve given up our sleep to go put decoys out in hopes to make some more memories. I start to realize I am drifting off into goose mode. I can see the geese locked up, wings back, landing gear down, ready for touchdown. Blake calls, “Take em!” The blind doors flip open and all you see are geese raining out of the sky.

I then come back to reality.

I decide to move my fold up lawn chair closer to the water's edge. I see a fish swim along the shoreline in a zigzag pattern. I ponder about all the times I’ve gone out fishing with my friends and family. All the times we have piled our fishing gear into our plane and flown into the Ontario wilderness in search of a honey hole. All the times we have beached the plane and flipped our boats over. The fishing is always phenomenal, we catch hundreds of walleyes in a day but only keep what we need for supper. As evening draws near, we strategically pack our fishing gear back into the plane. The plane ride home is always a good one, especially if the fishing was good. Everyone is happy and smiling about all the fun they had that day.

A gunshot goes off in the distance.

Everything I have taken in as I have been sitting here has moved me to think about many great times. All the fond memories I have made while surrounded by nature. I look across the water and I see the waves starting to get bigger. The breeze blows old dried out leaves onto my paper. The squeak of my chair folding up breaks the silence.