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| taken: day seventy three 08.31.12 |
As the sun sets on the last day of August, over Lake Mille Lacs, the evening becomes drowsy, dreamy and quiet.
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| taken: day seventy three 08.31.12 |
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| taken: day seventy 08.28.12 |
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| taken: day sixty seven 08.25.12 |
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| taken: day sixty five 08.23.12 |
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| taken: day sixty four 08.22.12 |
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| taken: day sixty 08.18.12 |
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| taken: day fifty eight 08.16.12 |
"I remember a hundred lovely lakes, and recall the fragrant breath of pine and fir and cedar and poplar trees. The trail has strung upon it, as upon a thread of silk, opalescent dawns and saffron sunsets. It has given me blessed release from care and worry and the troubled thinking of our modern day. It has been a return to the primitive and the peaceful. Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and benumbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me - I am happy."
~Hamlin Garland, McClure's, February 1899
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| taken: day fifty five 08.13.12 |
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| taken: day fifty four 08.12.12 |
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| taken: day fifty two 08.10.12 |
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| taken: day forty nine 08.07.12 |
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| taken: day forty six 08.04.12 |
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| taken: day forty three 08.01.12 |