Jack of Harts

Of all the things I miss it is the loons. Their haunting, rhythmic tunes speak of melancholy and freedom at the same time. Their calls echo off the foggy mornings that hush almost all other sounds in the northern lakes. Add in the sound of fish jumping, waves lapping on the shore, and maybe an elk trumpeting it challenge to the nearest tree that disrespected it and you have the sounds that I grew up to. The buzzing of mosquitoes I can do without, but I love and remember the rest, and even the best simulations do not capture those moments right. I will always miss those sounds of home.