The quiet stillness of the early dawn was broken by the
noisy honking of a gaggle of Canadian geese flying overhead in a vee formation. They were probably returning to one of the
thousands of lakes in Northern Canada for the summer.� The air was still crisp, even for April,
which is just the way Pete liked it. He was on the front porch of a small log
cabin typical of the cabins of the North Woods. A tendril of wood smoke snaked
its way out of the stone chimney heading toward the cloudless starlit sky, with
just a hint of grapefruit pink and orange highlighting the forest to the East.
The cabin was stoic�a one bedroom furnished with only the essentials...a cast
iron wood burning stove in the corner with a small wood table and cane chair in
the front toward the porch. The back corner had a small wooden bed covered with
patched quilts. Pete smiled as he chopped his firewood for the morning. The
logs split nicely, having dried for at least a year. He carried a handful into
the open door toward the stove.� There
was a wooden rocking chair on the front porch that held a small tackle box and
a small folding chair. His flannel shirt was draped over the arm of the rocker.
There was a small hurricane lamp that served as a front porch lamp.� A skillet with bacon sizzled on top of the
wood stove accompanied by the delicious aroma of wood smoke and bacon mingled
together. He closed the door behind him, leaving the small clearing in the Northwoods with its bright pinkish orange trees. �Now for
that cup of coffee,� he thought to himself.
