Morning, North Lake Tahoe

Posted on August 29, 2007

Just one of those mornings. Cold shower. Phantom stain on my favorite shirt. I back out of the driveway and in less than a minute, I’m pulled over by the highway patrol. Dude walks like a cowboy as he fondles his holster. “What did I do, officer?” I’ve forgotten to affix my registration sticker. I’m to go home and take care of it, stat. He runs a lengthy background check and lets me go with a stern warning. I wonder—What the hell was that? I drive down Highway 28 to my friendly mountain convenience store. I crave my national newspaper fix, but by the time I get there, cold, stained, reeking of bacon, the newsrack’s as bare as a bronco’s back. I trudge to my neighborhood coffee house, where they’ve jacked the price another nickel and my favorite pastry has sold out. I sit in a giant latte puddle. Soon, I’m limping through Tahoe City—wet butt, hungry, culturally deprived, hassled by the man, poor, foul and shivering—and it seems like nothing in the world could make me feel better.

Then I look to my left. People have gathered along the railing as though something has drawn them to it. Nobody speaks. Maybe a bright-eyed, “Look at that.” Or a woman whispering, “Beautiful.” We watch the sun dance on the lake. Rays leap off ripples until the water appears electric. On the surface, everything’s at peace: Little boats bobbing. The pier glistening. Purple mountains majesty along the Nevada coast. A breeze flows through in calm, cool tufts, and for a moment everything is right. I raise my camera, hold it straight and try to do it justice.

© Copyright Walkabout Jones • Powered by Wordpress • Inspired by Detour theme Edited by Cynthia Enciso.