James and I enjoy traveling the most when there is a only a rough itinerary, with very few pre-determined times or places. Beyond the doctor appointments in Ann Arbor that served as the launching point for our travels, we had only a general sequence of places and events for our mini-vacation for the days following, which is how we came to find ourselves in Lexington, Michigan with time on our hands.

We had spent the morning in James’ hometown, sampling doughnuts from the bakery, driving past all the homes he had lived in, circling the school parking lots as he reminisced about his days there, driving past the baseball fields he played on and stopping in to one of the more significant places he had worked during that time. James had been to the nearby town of Lexington many times growing up, but in addition to the sentimental value it held for him, he drove there thinking I might enjoy walking the pier on Lake Huron like we do sometimes on the west side of the state near our home. In addition to the restaurants James could remember from his childhood, Lexington also has a small but thriving downtown area with a handful of cute shops – just the type of places I enjoy strolling around and browsing through on beautiful summer days. And so we found ourselves milling about in perfect seventy degree weather, under nearly cloudless blue skies, bopping into this store and that, as we walked down the street towards the lake.

The pier itself was perhaps the most beautiful one I had ever seen, even in its simplicity. Built up with boulders on either side, the pier extended out and away from land, forming a crescent-shaped cove in which boats were docked. The sight from shore was beautiful, but once out on the pier the expanse was breathtaking, with nothing but deep blue water as far as our eyes could see. What we love about being near great bodies of water is never the beach or being in the sand, however. What we love about the water is the sound of the waves, and, in addition to the view, this pier was also one of the best I had ever been on for the sound. We stopped to watch a couple of freighters way off in the distance and then I climbed out onto one of the boulders and sat down with James joining me in silence.

The water below and right in front of us was the truest turquoise I have seen this side of a box of Crayolas, but not far out from the pier it turned into a deep yet bright blue, giving easy evidence for why the bridge by our hotel was called the “Blue Water Bridge.”

Sitting out on the rocks, we both were reminded of our trip to Maine several years ago. That was the first time we had heard waves on rocks together and we had enjoyed it as much then as we were now. With absolutely no where to be for hours, we lingered right there, savoring every piece of the moment – the warmth of the summer sun, the cooling effect of the breeze off the water, the smell of fresh but deep water, the sight of boats so far on the horizon they appeared blue or grey and with little to reference them against, they seemed hardly to move at all. But for both of us, overwhelmingly, we savored the sound the most. Steady, rhythmic, soothing- waves upon waves upon waves. A sound as eternal as time.

Just two days prior, we had been reminded by James’ oncologist of the limitations this disease dictates for us, and of the increasingly finite number of days that are perhaps left for us to share together. But here, on this rock, under the afternoon sun, with nothing but vast water in front of us and the crashing waves at our feet, time didn’t just slow, it seemed to just stop. There was nothing more to the world, no worries, no stress, no sorrow, no disease, nothing but peacefulness and joy. We aren’t beach people, but if I could live on a lake where that sound existed every day I would readily have signed the papers still sitting on that rock.

We did eventually leave the rocks, of course. We moved no more than a hundred yards to a table on the patio of a restaurant where we had delicious seafood and soaked in as much of that same panoramic view as we could. Over the next couple of days, we spent time near or around Lake Huron and the St. Clair River, but nothing came close to the peacefulness we savored that day on the pier in Lexington.