Dawn @ the Hermitage


It’s 5 AM & dawn is starting to break over the flowage here @ the hermitage; my News-Feed is filled w/ gibberish & awash in sentimental blather, friend Solomon’s pics of hot & sweaty, muscled young women the high-point of my cruise through the feed. The geese fly low, in haphazard formation, reflecting themselves in the pink & purple water, a huge pileated woodpecker I’ve been seeing around is kno
cking somewhere close by, and last night’s blackish clouds are moving out towards the south, clearing the sky for Father Sun’s entrance over the treeline a few hundred yards across the water. Coltrane is playing low, ‘A Love Supreme’, and the window is open in front of me, allowing the brisk morning air entrance….Ah, look!….there it is!….the 1st peep of blazing orange sun through the firs! The songbirds are gathering @ the feeders, the cats have been let out & I see Fro down there by the dock, hunting morning critters & keeping an eye out for the eagles. I’ll go back in awhile, I suppose, to Faceland, to see what’s cooking in that other world (it’s like going back to your favorite bar, night after night, afraid you’ll miss something, but what you really miss is the sameness, the comforting familiarity of Freddy Fender on the jukebox, and old Ed, two stools down)….but for now, father Sun is full in the sky & warm on my face, and I feel no need to make wiseass comments on stupid-ass posts; I feel only the deep gratitude of the woodland hermit in his natural element.

j.j. marino


About j. j. marino

As a creaky & cranky a-social agoraphobic anchorite, living in seclusion in the Great North Woods & keeping centered by the Power of the Written Word, a blog would seem to be a fat pitch in my strike zone.

Posted on April 29, 2012, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. I really get this, and feel the same way bro. well said

  2. I hear ya. Beautiful picture! Can’t wait to move out to the camp and awaken to the Big Lake at whatever business she’s chosen for the day. Calm seas or huge whitecaps. Or the ripples of a gentle west wind. Claire, the eagle, sitting in her pine, waiting for a handout, and hoping that she won’t think Jorma’s fit for consumption! Inspiring piece.

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