It's August in the Harbor. If you have ever visited or worked here during this month, you know it's a madhouse. People come here to "get away," but in August they are here with everyone else trying to get away. It's always been a paradox to me, but labeling it does no good.
I just have to get away myself.
So last week, Brady P. and I went out to Hunter's Point. We hadn't been there in a few weeks because, well, everyone else was there too!
But the Isle Royale Queen had just come back to the Harbor for the day, so I knew beach goers were waning. And something inside me told me to go.
On our way to the shore from the parking lot, I tried to direct little man to the shore. I always prefer if he travels on his own accord, even if it's heavily influenced by my words and direction.
We walked by a convertible with the top down, and the couple entering it exclaimed, "Big waves!" to Braeden to get him excited. Then to me, "Have you been down there?"
"Not today," I answered, knowing every day is different on the shore.
That day was more then different.
It was magical.
A peaceful looking man was seated in the boulders by the stairs, so we veered left a ways to give him some space. There might have been a few rock hounds further down, but that I don't remember.
B and I sat down in the still warm, smooth rocks that comprise the beach. The sun was to our left and slightly behind us -- about three hours before setting. And the cliff-laiden shore stood wet and proud to our right.
Why was it wet? The waves were coming in just right to smack those faces hard, delivering superior waterworks over 20 feet high. They crashed with loud smacking sounds and sent droplets flying in a majestic way.
And we were seated between the sun and the splashes. Do you know what happens in that perspective?
Rainbows, my friend.
Not only did we watch high smacking splashes, the droplets closest to the lake reflected rainbows. Now, if you know me at all, you know that I love rainbows.
I was instantly awed and humbled. In disbelief.
Wow, wow, WOW!
The only thing that really captivated our attention away from this perfectly timed rainbow spectacle were the waves themselves.
The translucent aqua waves of Lake Superior rolled in at great heights like they often do on a fall day. Except instead of watching lackluster waves that the gray autumn brings, they were illuminated by the sun, flaunting their turquoise hues.
As always, Brady P. was mesmerized by their rhythm, sound and ability to change as they broke over themselves. (Okay, I'm not sure exactly what captivates him because he has never verbalized it. This is just my guess.)
He stood there in his sweetly observant posture: standing up straight, hands clasped behind his back and eyes out to sea, following the next wave to arrive. So still. This pose alone is enough to show me that he has so much going on inside his brain and spirit. I can tell he was awed and humbled like I was.
Then, all the sudden, one of those waves would come up a little further than any of the others had come before. "Eeeek!" I would squeal as we both wondered if we're about to get licked.
Then we looked at each other and giggled hysterically. We both loved every minute.
Brady P. didn't even throw many rocks that day. The foaming waves absorbed any visible splashes, but we were also both so enthralled by the energy and beauty around us that we didn't have to make our own. We were simply observers awed by Mother Nature.
Time stood still for that -- however long we were there. And amongst the chaos of still August when I can't even get my van out of my driveway sometimes, I can reflect on that time that stood still in those great moments of beauty and connectedness... with the little boy who changed my life.