Musings on an early Wednesday morning

The Muse spake thus this morning :

Pontiac awoke the next morning to the sound of waves breaking along the shore.  A brisk wind from the northwest promised to bring rain as it whipped the previously placid surface of the lake into four foot breakers.  He followed the trail down the dune and plunged into the lake, the water refreshing him and helping to ease the aches from the ballgame of yesterday.  He stood in the water as the waves broke upon him remembering the thundering roar of the people, his people after his talk last night.  On the beach, Eluwilussit, the hoary, white haired Ottawa holy one watched his chief and spoke, ‘Just as these waves strike and fall away from you so shall the British disappear as droplets of water into the air.’  Pontiac shook the water from his hair as he walked to his spiritual advisor.  ‘Manitou will bring us great victories but it is up to us to bring it about,’ he said, taking Eluwilussit by the shoulders, ‘come old friend, let us begin.’

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