It is 7:06 am on an early fall Sunday morning. The sun has not risen and though light is visible no vegetation has dressed in their colors for the day. Nature’s palette is muted in shades of gray and black. There are thousands of people living around the peaceful Lake Washington which spans at this point from Mercer Island to Seattle. My house sits about a quarter mile above the lake. I relish the solitude as the Cascade Mountains begin to peer at me through my window. Quiet and serene the undisturbed mantle of the water bursts with a roar. One lone person in one loud and noisy motorboat shatters the morning’s stillness forcing those in its’ vicinity to stumble from their slumber in an undignified exit from their dreams.