Lake Superior

 

Two dear friends and I drove as far north as we could in Wisconsin, ready to dance with Lake Superior. We spent the weekend exploring three state parks and a national lakeshore.

We saw the tallest waterfall in Wisconsin and the tiniest mushrooms.
We walked across a covered bridge and cobblestone streets.
We chugged coffee at sunrise and sipped beer at moonrise.
We splashed in a great lake and skipped rocks along its shore.
We took a three-hour cruise and saw the sunset over sea caves.

We gave each other trail names one day. Wildflower Moonrise, Pine Mountain Bear, Little Fox River, Autumnal Equinox. Names like that. Names that meant something to us. We talked about the world and our part in it. We decided we are not peonies. We do not wilt away after three days. We are not yet mountains, but one day we'll shout away all our worries as we summit. We are, perhaps, somewhere in between a dainty flower and a grandiose alp. We are sequoia tress. Sometimes we sway in the wind, but we have strong bases. We let leaves grow from our branches and people sit in our strong arms.

Pattison State Park

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