The loons appeared again later in the trip.
The loons appeared again later in the trip.


Hi, God; how are you?
We haven’t talked in awhile.
But thanks for the loons.

Sometimes, because I’m a little bit intractably crazy, I lie awake at night in the grip of anxiety. On our first night out, in a new spot, after a day of grocery shopping, uncooperative tent poles and paddling a canoe in a race with the setting sun, my body hurt and the anxiety settled into my bones. I lay in the dark tent, unable to feel comfortable, my mind grabbing for things to worry about. And then, echoing from across the massive, empty lake, came the loon’s call. Some people find the loon call chilling, but I never have. It sounds true to life to me — one part sad, one part funny, three parts expressive. I felt like I was being greeted by an old friend. The anxiety evaporated.

I don’t want to talk about religion, and I really don’t want to invite a spiritual critique — my beliefs are what they are and I find are mostly impervious to conscious change. But I mostly find god around the periphery of life, like an ambiguous whisper in my ear, or a gentle tug from the deep end of a fishing line.

Thanks for the loons. Thanks for my ears. A happy intersection.


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