The morning light is soft

AT THE CHURCH O’ THE PINES the morning light is soft. The breeze is soft, over the river. The wind chimes tinkle softly. The air is humid, and it is the season when quilts of fog hang over wetlands and fields in the evening. It is in many ways a gentle time of year. No more the blazing heat of

Sunset on Fawn Island

IT IS WONDERFUL to gaze at a sunset, at the palette of colors in the sky. But when we cast our eye away from the setting sun, we sometimes find the world bathed in a glorious golden light. My old friend Sigurd Olson used to call this the Ross Light, named for a Life magazine photographer who first pointed it