Moorings

I need a bumper sticker that states, "I brake for lakes". The lure of a lake has pulled on me ever since I can remember. One of my favorite lake views is at the crest of Big Tree Road when you're about to drop into Lakewood. It's always astonishing, and never the same twice. Draped in fog, locked in ice, gleaming in sunlight, smooth as glass or choppy as a tossed salad, the lake beckons. The road dips toward it and you feel like you might want to drive straight to the water's edge. Which you can do, sort of. At the end of Big Tree, you have to dog-leg it into a cozy waterside neighborhood and wend your way to the edge. 
Moored boats fascinate me. Tethered securely to the pier, rocking gently in nautical rhythms, their sales tucked in, they suggest Tranquility. 
Tranquility and Patience. Soon enough, their sails will billow in a crisp June breeze. Voices will call to each other over the water, and gulls will soar on a trade wind. 
For now, though, the boats wait. Anchored or tied, they wait in that ethereal place where earth and water and sky still cling to the edges of winter.
Capricious winds will tease. Spring Zephyrs will ripple the veiled waters.
And so it is with us, you and me.
Our moorings are in place, but Oh! How we long to sail headlong into the next season. A giddy awakening stirs in our innards, calling for greener horizons; softer views; benevolent watery sunsets.
For now, we must wait. Hunker down and bob gently on slumbering waters. This weekend as I daydream about waving to the passengers on the Chautauqua Belle, I will listen for sneakered feet on a creaky dock. I will imagine the clang of the Captain's bell. I will listen for the cry of the heron. 
The boats are waiting. The world is hushed, still cloaked in browns and greys. This time, too, is important as we sail on toward the greens and blues and deep, vivid hues of Summer.