A year gone by,
first night alone,
dust of city falls away,
deep silence over all.
End day of portage and canoe,
dive naked off a perfect rock,
flight to the surface in delight,
a child reborn.
Late day, warm sun settles over all,
and still of eve,
beauty of the world before man,
peace grows inside of me.
evening of the third day,
mind drifts in endless time,
memories weave with present here,
sans care and sans desire.
School of small fish,
chasing in the morning sun,
family of loons calling,
skittering over water in happy flight.
Small perfect raspberries,
in little patches along the path,
a few blueberries,
so few, so sweet.
The calm quiet of early morn,
lake mirrors shore back at me,
solitary loon floats softly by,
and nods hello to day.
Beaver lodges dot the shore,
moose flapping her ears
mist off the water at morn,
and over all, the bugs.
Sidelong glimpse of death’s hyena,
following on my trail,
not now, my friend,
my day’s still long.
Kindly soul left a joint here,
so up I go,
majestic day on Lake La Muir
full sun and southwest view,
Small fish nibble at my feet,
in sunlit shallow,
gaze over kingdom where I stand,
this is how the world began.
Second last day here,
feeling sweet and tired,
my wild harvest rich this year,
ready to return to daily home.
Lie naked on the forest floor
look up at blue through trees of green,
summer breeze wash over me,
no thought but this, it is good.
The miracle of nature in these lands,
grasses, trees, and living things,
sprung to glorious life in summer,
to die each winter ‘til spring returns.
W. Milne
August 2016