by Judith Windover

Created on: October 25, 2008   Last Updated: December 06, 2008

Revised Chapter 1

The first rays of dawn pushed against the darkness. Silence permeated the air. My sister's dandelion canoe slid across the glassy surface with each stroke. For thirty minutes I chased the night and was overcome by light. Long boney fingers reached out from behind me and plucked thin wiry strands of harmonic mist. In the distance the slow sentimental song of a loon lulled the air. A soft moist breath brushed my skin as I lifted the paddle and laid it across my lap. Water drizzled from the paddle's head creating a surge of portals on the mirror below. Boyd's Island emerged in the distance; long, dark, large and jagged.Gulls screeched high and circled lowly overhead. I plunged the paddle into the water and steeled myself for the journey ahead. The time was 6:00 a.m., the second last week of August, 1982. My first official retreat.

I found a secluded area nestled among some rocks on the northwest side, beached the canoe, and set up camp. My goal was to remain on the island four days and four nights alone. The purpose of my retreat was enlightenment.My mother and father had separated two summers earlier a few days after my sweet sixteen. Their separation and our subsequent move into a neighboring town signified the death of my childhood and the rude awakening into adulthood. My mother had always been a little absent in my childhood. But now, as a single mother, her presence was rare. Consequently, and in spite of the fact that my doctor couldn't find anything medically wrong with me, I became increasingly and mysteriously ill. He sent me to see a shrink who informed me it was all in my head. I had hoped for something tangible, a future appointment perhaps. But no. Nothing. Instead I was dismissed. It was then I decided to retreat.

The first day was difficult. Boredom set like concrete. I hadn't thought of bringing activities to keep me occupied as activities would have been against the point; so I ate instead. Eating provided temporary relief but boredom was heavy and ancored me to the ground.I mused the idea of a swim but was diverted by fears of fish and seaweed. Feeling fearful made me angry. I succumbed to a quick tantrum then stretched across the rocks and fell asleep. It seemed sleep and boredom were best friends. My belly woke me just before dinner.

Dinner was humble; a slice of bread, a chunk of cheese, a few carrot sticks and an apple. After dinner I roamed the perimeter and collected branches and twigs for a fire. Unfortunately, I used most of the paper and matches that first night. I stabilized the fire, wandered to the waters edge, sat on the rocks, and watched the setting sun; red, crimson, scarlet, gold and amber followed by deep purple twilight. The final rays extinguished into a velvety blue haze. The temperature dropped suddenly. I hugged my knees into my chest. Billions of stars twinkled. A brilliant starry night. Tiny lights twinkled from cottages across the lake and faint voices echoed. Nearby, branches snapped under the weight of something heavy. Probably bears. I returned to the warmth of the fire and was mesmerized by the flames. Heat prickled my skin and caused my thighs to itch. My mind went numb. It was midnight when I clambered into the tent and snuggled into my blanket. But sleep was silk, cool and light. Cold coiled around my toes and crept up my legs like slithering snakes. My thin blanket was insufficient. I tossed and turned and cuddled into myself, hands between my thighs, curled into fetus position. Still, no warmth could I find. I shivered and prayed for morning to come, praying for the sun to shine.

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