By J. M. Carlstad 2011
Cracklin’ flames
Morning’s first fire
Boiling fresh coffee
The day’s second desire
Whilst out on the lake
The call of the loon
Cuts through the mist
Like the paddle that slides
Through the blue
The mighty pines sway
And their sigh bears the scent
Of old forest and life
As they bow and they bend
The wind ruffles
My hair
Dancing through embers
While the dog sniffs…
And my body remembers . . .
The call of the loon
Cuts through the mist
Like his paddle
That slides through the blue
An osprey hovers
Oe’r rippling waters
A fish jumps over there
Mallards leave a trailing V
in waters swampy black
Whilst the call of the loon
Cuts through the mist
Like the paddle that slides
Through the blue
My trembling hand
Wipes over eyes that mist
As I sense him approaching
Through the blue
Whilst the call of the loon
Cuts through the mist
Like his canoe that glides
So true.
Bringing him to me
As he steps quietly now
Never rippling waters
nor making a sound
sliding his hands
through my hair
he holds me with care
whilst the call of the loon
cuts through the mist
surrounding us
‘midst morning’s dew
and only
the trees with
their soft
fragrant breeze
will have
witnessed
the tenderness there
for my eye
missed no more
what I’d long waited for
The kingfisher dove,
The heron stood nearby
Grasses waved softly
And the trees did sigh
Whilst out on the lake
The call of the loons
Cut through the mist
somewhere there
Until suddenly
A light fell upon the wild pair
The skies cleared blue
With the sun fiery bright
Warming forever
The two.
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