the river has been shrouded in a foggy mist for 24 or more hours. And as much as I enjoy sunny days and calm waters there is something eerily romantic about ships passing in the mist. While I'm typing this , the morning mist is beginning to dissipate, but enough remains to blur the image of the Canadian Steamship Lines' laker plowing a furrow through the channel. It's diesel chugging rhythmically , the apparition floats by evoking images in my mind of ghost ships of yore.

The rain clouds have cleared the area and the weatherman says cloudy today but no more rain. the surface of the picnic table has a few wet spots but more dry than damp . The grass is lush with a sleek wetness. I'm happy in knowing that the garden and flower beds have been refreshed with the day long drizzling of yesterday and through the night.

Seven minutes on the dot since the ghost ship passed, on it's journey to the Great Lakes, and it's wake is lapping against the shore reminiscent of the ocean waves washing the shores of our consciousness and imbuing the body with a deep penetrating relaxation. Deeper and deeper the reverie seeps, filling every organ, every nerve with-in; calm.