Where I do my best thinking

I do my best thinking at the Buster Brown dock. I rarely see people here. Lately it hasn’t been so quiet. Although, it is all just a matter of perception. It is not quiet because I can hear the sound of the leaves falling. I can hear the small creek that just recently started running because of the fresh snow on Sourdough. I can hear the rustling of the leaves as squirrels and chipmunks dart from place to place preparing for winter. I can hear the resident Varied Thrush conversing in a bird language I aspire to one day understand. And lately, while I listen to this cacophony of sound and gaze out at Pyramid and Colonial Peaks I realize how lucky I am to be sitting in this place, thinking.