The Lake

Yesterday I went on a lake
in a small paddle boat.
It was raining and I was chilled and uncomfortable
but the calm stillness of the water called in a silent voice that was impossible to ignore.
The edges of the lake were a beautiful bottle green
echoing verse from an Earl Birney poem.
I could see clearly to the bottom below
where rocks and water logged wood
sat in restful slumber.
The farther out I drifted the darker and bluer the water became
I was in the middle of the lake sitting upon a velvet navy blue.
Where I stopped
and sat
and merely
The water was crystal cool to my finger tips
as I tickled them along the surface making little divots and splashes
Like a mosquito skittering along the surface.
A pair of loons swam close, unafraid of my presence,
giving me permission to enjoy their kingdom.
I drifted nearer to them. They are larger than I believed them to be.
Majestic, dark knights.
Sublime creatures from a gothic period.
Diving down to depths where time stands still.
But the loons are not my only companions on the lake today.
A man and a woman in a canoe travel by,
slicing silently through the water.
They smile and say “hello”.
Everything seems happier out here
in the middle of this lake
where there is no ugliness.
Only freshness
and clarity
and peace.


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