We live on a hill in a small quiet suburb on the outside of town. Can see Lake Superior from 3 sides of our house and shortly after winter hits, an eery silence comes over the place. In the distance is a snow machine trail, but it's still far enough away that you need to be trying to hear it.

I'd say we are fairly in tune with the sounds of the seasons and the motions and temperament of the lake and the north. It's is both beautiful and harsh, as we are allowed to experience the full breadth of all the seasons through the land and the climate that surrounds us. The motion and heartbeat of the summer pulsing it's wind through the trees. The rustling of dried leaves and snapping branches hunkering down in winters path. Late geese formations flying overheard signalling, signifying the urgency of life to prepare for the inevitable bitter cold. The first blasts of winter from a unforgiving north wind that comes in squalls off the lake like a wall informing you it is time...ready or not. The water dripping off the eaves of the house, the branches of the trees, trickling and pooling, rushing its way through once tiny creeks along the hill leading to a lake coming back to life...ice cracking and jamming in its path, birds and squirrels busy in its wake. And then the winds begin again in the tree tops through fresh leaves and summer is again on its way.

I don't know that I will always live here, as there is much to see in this world, but I believe part of me will.