e August Song On A Northern Lake
In the early morning mist of a northern lake
the August sun has yet to highlight trees that hint of autumn.
The canoe moves to the sound of the paddle
on the glass smooth quiet,
as an eagle speaks from a tree too far away to see
and the distant call of a Loon is heard.
The paddle rests,
the boat glides on,
near trees with their upward reaching shapes of green,
accompanied only by faint ripples,
suspended over clear darkness.
In the embrace of stillness,
slowly from the distant faint shore,
the ever changing shape of an approaching cloud appears.
a hushed many winged song is heard
as migrating blackbirds head south.