The sky is dull—dawn hasn’t broken—and through the thick pine trees, the lake’s waves lap rhythmically against the shoreline. Stratus clouds blanket the firmament like an old faded quilt. Grey & weathered, the canoe dock reaches out into the mist, disappearing at an ambiguous point. Steam dwindles into mist above the edge of the coffee mug, though this morning it is filled with calming herbal tea. A dog-eared book lays facedown on the porch table, next to the porch swing heaped with pillows & cabled throw blankets.