In the Stillness of Night

One lone camper at the port campgrounds where the floating man cave is docked was breaking camp as we pulled up around 2:30 p.m. The clouds had built up to the point where it seemed rain was imminent, and sure enough, as we got under way a few sprinkles started to fall. “Should we stay near the port?” we asked each other as husband raised the canopy. “Nah,” we both concluded. This didn’t look like a serious storm, and we soon outran the drops.

We passed only a few boats on the way to a secluded cove where husband dropped anchor, and we noticed a quietness we had not heard in weeks. There were no other boats within earshot. Table Rock Lake is a busy and popular spot most weekends. And yet, on this Sunday we nearly had this enormous lake to ourselves.

We sat watching the clouds as the stillness surrounded us until the sun set over the hills and slowly the stars became visible—first the Evening Star and soon, as we sat with our chins pointed upwards, the whole of the sky was covered. How low the Big Dipper appeared! By now darkness enveloped us. Only a few lights from homes overlooking the lake punctuated our darkness. We smelled wood smoke and heard a lone dog bark in the distance.

I thought back to how as a child I was so afraid of the dark that I slept with the light on each night, afraid of danger lurking there in the dark. Yet, tonight, in nearly pitch black with no moon to steal the glory from the stars, I breathed in soft evergreen-scented air and thought how wonderful.