On a morning such as this, before the world begins anew, the water like a mirror, mist gently floating across the bay, life is overwhelmingly wonderful. Soon the parade of cormorants start dotting the horizon and flying north over the bay. Single lines of birds stretch 40-50 bird lengths in each congregation. We soon see that the point turned from a pale sand color to black with a cormorant convention. The crows start squawking, seagulls move in searching for breakfast. The gulls have a loud disagreement over who gets first dibs on the catch of the day.
We are anchored off South Manitou Island the furthest north we’ve ever sailed. Yesterday we motor sailed from Frankfort in light winds, bright sun, and sky blue waters. We dropped anchor near the beach between two other sail boats, turned the engine off and enjoyed the quiet. The breeze gently flowing through the birch trees, the ripples tickling our hull, the sun warm on our faces. We row ashore and pull the dinghy up on the beach. Lots of white marble sized stones and foot prints from shore birds, a feather here, a single piece of beach glass greet us. The sand is warm underfoot, we walk toward the point, pass the other sailboat and are stopped by signs prohibiting entry because the point is a nesting spot for the Piping Plover. We turn back, I wade in the chilly water, and it feels good compared to the warm sand. It is good to feel the sand under my feet, the water between my toes, and the pure joy of walking with the one I love in this magical place.