Moonrise over Manitou, Paul Gruchow Essay Contest Winner, 2006
Posted by forrestokane on February 23, 2008
Moonrise over Manitou
“The fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion, which stands at the cradle of true art and science. He who knows it not and can no longer wonder, no longer feel amazement, is as good as dead, a snuffed out candle.” — Albert Einstein, physicist.
A fast-moving thunderstorm drenched the backyard around 4:30 p.m. one summer day, freshening the air and settling the dust of two dry summer weeks. Thirsty flowers, garden vegetables and trees immediately came back to life with that fresh dose of nitrogen-rich manna from heaven.
The increase in humidity released the perfume of a thousand blossoms on a showy, white catalpa tree across the road. The catalpa tree is like a gigantic white lilac bush, and just as fragrant. This particular tree is 50 feet tall and 20 feet wide in places. When in bloom, every little branch is covered with 3-inch white flowers, the edges of their folded petals tinged red. The fragrance is so intoxicatingly sweet that you’ll find yourself stopping in your tracks to draw in the dizzying perfume.
Later, the day warmed to the 80s and the humidity grew, so I waited until the coolness of evening to take Wolf for a bike run around the marsh. Dogs don’t run well in hot weather.
But soon we were off. We first stopped at the edge of Matoska Park, Wolf still on his leash. I looked around and spotted a raccoon digging around in the dirt, no doubt looking for turtle eggs. Wolf quickly spotted the little bear and went on full alert. I dared not turn him loose for fear the scrappy little coon would injure Wolf in a fight. Coons are tough critters.
I pointed the raccoon out to two passing middle-aged ladies. “Oh they’re so ugly. I wish they weren’t around,” one grumbled.
I’ve always thought the raccoon a handsome creature. This particular coon was young with a beautiful black and brown coat all fluffed out and in perfect summer condition. Its face clearly showed the characteristic black bandit mask and dark muzzle.
The ladies soon strode off as did the coon, all parties obviously preferring other company. Wolf let out a bark at the departing animal. The coon jerked its head up in alarm and quickly scrambled up a nearby cottonwood tree. Summer’s long days must cut into the normally nocturnal coon’s hunting time, which probably explains why it was out in broad daylight.
The raccoon safely up a tree, we moved on and soon arrived at the old abandoned Matoska boat landing. As usual, I tossed a tennis ball out into the water with a thrower for Wolf to fetch. He eagerly dove in after the faux duck.
Out over the water, the swifts and swallows were making a night of it, bobbing and weaving in long graceful sweeps in pursuit of their insect dinner. The ducks were flying into the marsh to roost for the night, while a catbird sang its melodious songs from a nearby grove of maple trees. The usual flotilla of sailboats, their sails slack from a lack of wind, were motoring back to their moorings at the lake’s west end.
To the far northeast and northwest anvil-topped thunderheads loomed high into the evening sky, leftovers from that passing storm. The bottom 4/5ths of the mammoth clouds were already shrouded in darkness. But their tops were colored in a striking shade of brooding pinks and russet oranges. High winds were shearing off the very peaks of the thunderheads, creating horsetails that streamed out for miles. These too were soon set ablaze by the setting sun. The thin horsetails were now back-lit by the setting sun, themselves set afire for a few brief moments before the waning sun dipped below earth’s horizon.
As the sun bid adieu in the west, I noticed yet another cosmic glow gathering in the east, this one gentler than our powerful star. There, slowly rising over the mist-shrouded treetops of Manitou Isle, was the giant, glowing orb of a full moon. The gentle rising of that huge full moon cast a spell over the lake. Even the usually noisy creatures of the marsh seemed to fall silent, as if hypnotized by the moon’s gigantic presence looming in the sky above. They soon caught their breath, however, with the frogs the first to sing their approval.
Moonstruck ourselves, Wolf and I soon awoke from our trance and turned toward home, passing several onlookers on the way. They, too, were just standing there, silently, in awe at the moonrise over Manitou.
