Yesterday we took a hike around Lily’s Pond. In the summer it is a popular swimming spot, but yesterday, with the season over, not a soul was around. It was totally silent, and there wasn’t even a breath of wind — leaving the water unruffled and as reflective as a looking glass.
They say everyone needs to have a peaceful, happy place to think of when they need to escape the hurly-burly rush of modern life. When I need to mentally visit that quiet place, I’ll be thinking of Lily’s Pond, just as it was yesterday.
Today is one of those perfectly calm days, where the water in the Stonington harbor looks like a sheet of hammered silver and the boats lie perfectly motionless at anchor, as if they are moored in concrete. There’s only the slightest breath of wind, and it is so quiet you can hear the remaining dead leaves rustling in the trees, the cawing of crows, and lone human voices carrying from far across the harbor.
It’s not hard to relax here.
Another day dawns over Squam Lake, and there is absolute silence as the sun rises. It is so quiet that the sound of stones crunching underfoot seems to echo to the ends of the earth.
Every city dweller should make a trip to a place like this to learn and appreciate the meaning of quiet.
We’re in Tamworth, New Hampshire tonight. It’s a tiny town, quiet and lovely, and about as far away from a bustling law practice in a relatively large city as you can get — which, of course, is the the whole idea. The photo above, of a beautiful home on the outskirts of town, gives you an idea of the tranquility of the place.
I particularly like the silence here. Sitting in a 225-year-old house built by a ship captain that now operates as a bed and breakfast, with not a sound emanating from outside, Columbus seems very far away.