My back is sore. I just moved my kayak before my walk. My kayak is an older Old Town two man “Loon 134”. It’s screaming yellow and affectionately called the big banana. Did I mention it’s heavy? I think the inner rails are filled with lead. I’m fairly certain you can’t buy a heavier kayak. I’m thinking of selling it. My brother-in-law has a ski boat. He takes kids tubing. My other brother-in-law has a Tracker bass boat. He takes everyone fishing. I’m not sure we need this tank of a kayak. I like it, but it’s not exciting to anyone but me. It’s a boat for a heart patient, not for making exciting stories. I have regrets about selling my personal watercraft. I think about this as I walk.

I’m a little disappointed in my sneaker choice too. I left my good Hokas at home and wore my less expensive Asics. It’s not all that wet for a hurricane here in New England. Henri had made landfall and my wife remarked, “You didn’t take in the lawn chairs around the fire pit?”. She was right. I didn’t do it and as a result Henri knocked one chair over. Kind of a letdown for a hurricane. It’s also left us with misty air, but no flooding. No downed trees or power lines. I could have worn the good shoes. I’ll flip that chair up when I get home.

I’m also a little disappointed in myself. I’m not finding any miraculous signs or divine images that inspire my walk. It’s not unpleasant, just an ordinary damp night. Why do I feel I need to see something amazing on every single outing? I guess I’m just getting spoiled.

A week or so ago I got to the end of my neighborhood and saw a spectacular moon rise. It made me think, “How many of these have I missed before? How much do I take for granted?” Miraculous.

There’s a state park fairly close by. It’s far enough away from light pollution. I’ve laid on my back there staring at the sky long enough to catch a parade of satellites while looking for meteor showers. About a month ago I looked up while on my evening walk through my neighborhood and thought how much harder it is to see things like that closer to home. Just then the sky lit up with a streak of orange fireball and sparklers. It looked like a space station was crashing to earth. What a sight. It spoils you.

I was spoiled enough that after the moon rise, I kept my eyes toward the sky looking for just one more shooting star. 15 minutes later I rounded a bend and as the treetops formed a dark blue alleyway of night sky, a single shooting star shot straight down the middle.

My sign. My miraculous.

I thought to myself how I wasn’t even sure where the big dipper was. It had been that long with cloudy skies and rain on nearly every walk this summer, that I had lost track. As I was passing through the area of darkest overgrowth, I noticed a square portal through the trees. Dead center was my big dipper. Holy crap! How does that happen?  Skeptics will always have excuses. “It’s just because you happen to notice. It’s coincidence. You’re looking for an excuse. You’re making everyday life into something amazing in order to feel good.” I like making things amazing. I like feeling good.

Tonight, there is no amazing to report. There is no miraculous. There is just gray skies and mist that covers my glasses and distorts my vision. I’ll have nothing to write to you about. I get home and reach for the door handle. My watch buzzes. I have a message.

No explanation. Just photos of my niece’s summer journal pages. Inside is the 3rd grader’s eye view of summer and the best parts of it. Kayaking with Uncle Craig makes the list. She learned to paddle by herself, got to go fishing (a lot) and got to ecsplore(sic). She even got to hike with me. I read the text and then strain to see the graphic she drew. It’s blurry. I’d blame it on the mist on my glasses, except I’m inside now and my glasses are on the table.

I got my miraculous.

Oh yeah. And I’m keeping the kayak.