Showing 21–30 of 44 results
Yield to me your secrets that I may know the storms I must endure. Yield to me your secrets that I may know the peace I may encounter. Yield to me your secrets that I may know the journey with faith and joy through the waves of my life.
A shaman’s essence reaches beneath the outer shell of grey and black, and seeks the hidden realms and deeper meaning beneath this everyday world.
Your clear waters calm my soul with every stroke of my paddle. My red canoe is drawn to islands where solitude and reflection have sustained me through formative years. A father’s love of nature flows through my veins like warm Summer breezes, and lessons learned are appreciated with every sunset’s glow. You are the catalyst that reunites long lost friends. You are Lac-du-Cerf.
An Algonquin lake sparkles like a rare gem set between two serpentine diamond strings named Madawaska. In view of the red trimmed cabins of Killarney Lodge, an ancient outcropping emerges and gives life to those who would cling to its rocky shores. Indigenous pathways reflect in mirror soaked calmness, as respect is given to the land that breathed life into their ancestors. Winter ice brings guests unlikely to traverse open water, and provides host for a moment of isolation and reflection. The warm waters of summer wafts quiet voices and gentle paddle strokes across glistening wakes, as distant loons call with lilting echoes. Approaching clouds hint at changing weather as all seek shelter in her bays. This enchanting landscape reveals its secrets in blazing colour, frozen solitude, and misty shrouds. This is the life blood of a gift we call Lake of Two Rivers.
Sunlit trails lead us through rustling grasses, lichens that crunch under foot, and sea urchin shells, as we draw closer to Callahan Cove.
They stand together on this special spot, and remember five decades past when a young couple pledged their love for each other witnessed by friends and family, under a lunar orb where mortals first set foot less than a month before.
Close to six decades have passed since a young family re-settled on the shores of a lake the Iroquoian named Skanadario.
Spring has come to Algonquin in reluctant strokes of fragile warmth. Cool waters ripple as icy coverings are released, and return slowly to fluid motion. Closing hours of daylight spawn Winter’s last flurry, and a chill returns to the now placid waters. Distant shores lose definition, and mystery returns in the Mew Lake mist.
We stand alone in silent reflection, remembering the day we have just shared. Each moment spent in appreciation for the presence of the other. Stars begin to scatter across a darkening sky, as rocky shores turn magically from solid monoliths to glassy, translucent points of light. The perfect ending to a day of discovery and love is captured in a moonlight embrace.
I hear the world differently than you. Visual cues present themselves, and guide me in ways unknown to most. I hear rustling leaves through oscillating shimmer, as they dance to an East wind’s command. The splash of a Northern Pike delights me, as ripples radiate then fade to still waters. A loon’s crimson eyes rise and fall in royal splendour, as its lonely call brushes my soul. Night falls as ashen shadows and azure skies cloak reflective silence. All who bear witness unite in my world. I am not alone in the presence of the night birch.