Roy G. Biv
The wind at the shore of violent Lake Superior had been harsh and cold, but as the trail re-entered the woods, the protective trees wrapped me in calm. Each step got quieter. About a half-mile in, all was tranquil. Then I glimpsed a brightness through a gap in the trees to the right, and meandered in that direction until I could see more clearly. Across the water of Little Chapel Lake, an entire spectrum of colors waved happily. Red, orange, yellow. Green. Blue, indigo, violet. The colors of October. Old friends. I lingered and enjoyed their company for several minutes, but the afternoon sky cautioned me that it was getting late. Evening was arriving, and I still had miles to go. So I said goodbye to the little lake, and to Roy G. Biv, and started once more down the trail. Miles to go, but my step felt light.