There's a lake in Canada's Algonquin Park that's quite special to me. Just about all of them are beautiful - ethereal and silent, capable of both anger and grace. But one of them is also quite magical - to my family and I anyway.
This one particular lake, deep within the park's wilderness is home to loons and trolls and wind and the trees that do their bidding. It's a long involved story that goes on for generations and I won't go into, for if you haven't been there you won't truly appreciate it. Paddling this lake though, seeing and smelling and feeling it - where the hills climb sharply from the water's edge and the forest has eyes reflecting off the lake that watch you as you glide atop it's deep waters, you know the place you are in is solemn and the stories must be true.
It's a rare place that instills quiet in your soul, and allows you to sense dimensions that aren't obvious most anywhere else. I won't share the location or name of this place, for fear it'll be found and spoiled. For while the loons and trolls and trees have been there for a long long time, people haven't and our privilege of witnessing this isn't a right, its a gift.
My wish is that each of us has such a place that we can literally visit, and use as a source of internal peace when we need it.
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