A Song From Economy Lake
Upon the water is a sprinkling of green.
And from a distance the island does appear
Insignificant yet mysterious drawing
attention should any visiting canoe whisper by.
It pokes out from Economy Lake. A finger of rock
lined with trees creating an irregular
border of private space. An unnoticed sanctuary
for birds and animals with plenty of trees.
Standing on the mainland it appears abandoned
or even adrift from the closeness of shore. As
near as the sky earth water with some secrecy
and character of its own. The island
prepares a story to be retold once and again.
When twilight creeps towards daylight we enter
this domain. Now pay attention to an ancient song:
It begins with an eerie whistle from a restless wind
curving and twisting throughout the trees. Proud
and thick with branches they act as mothers
to fir and feather. They provide numerous
sanctuaries as windy puffs twirl and tremble on
the tiny island where fallen pine needles restlessly
toss back and forth seeking a better place
in which to settle. They mix well in their dance
from one depression in the earth to another. Then
a finale a cozy resting place gathers them in.
From here they prepare to take root and await
rain's nourishment. Tomorrow the sun will stroke
this fertile space creating new sprouts of life
other sounds begin a march from earth to
darkening sky. Silent paths of furry feet matching
a cautious movement of wings. Branches groan
quietly as a feathery weight settles upon the
security of a tall pine surrounding itself with wind.
Nighttime arrives as a smothering blanket and
removes tardy sparks of evening light. And a yoke
of flickering glow signals its triumphant farewell
pink and mottled blue mingling within the framework
of island and sky. A hint of red lingers as a night kiss.
Night covers are quilted shadows. Trees are proud
soldiers as picturesque statues aside the shore
and soon the land is an overlap of silhouettes with
a hint of remembrance upon the lake now silent.
After evening's light the island mass appears to have
disappeared. A closer look reveals its true fate with
activity taking place. Waves quietly "shush" aside
the shore. Cowlicks of white are cresting crowns of
movement rising up, up and down and we admire
their rippled-froth more like spies in the moonlight.
As if on cue sound is halted. Also feral movements
pause from an interruption piercing the night-life.
"AAH-OOH-AAH-OOH-AAH" is an escaping moan
from a nearby loon. He claims this island as his own
with a serenade that repeats in ascending waves
ancient steps hurrying to the brocade of a starry sky
an eruption of magnificent sound continuing to rise
and fall as a whisper of flight. It enters the sparsely
forested area in a symphony of esteem and glides
in royal assent around the outskirts of the island.
This magical flute heralds the beginning of normal
night activities. Trees tremble. Limbs crackle from a
hesitating of paw and hoof. And the first evening hunt
concludes with a strident flap of wings muffling an
agony of alarm barely heard above the stillness.
Flashing pinpricks of light soon blink in random
procession calling from one clump of brush to
another. Fireflies acting as beacons seeking to be
captured. An answering ember responds with spirals
of activity more like a hurrying candle of emotion.
They flicker in patterns creating an atmosphere
of friendliness while clouds gather in lazy swirls
piled as bunched-up marshmallows above the
island. The moon peeks through these crowded
white puffs beaming a path to an island inlet
where ecstasy reigns. That oval outline is a face
of wonder creating a bond with its gaze of curiosity.
During an earlier period this island erupted as
as a flowering surge from beneath Economy lake.
Earth and sky became brothers in the happening.
In a symphony of awe the wind now raises its voice
creating vibrant tunes throughout trees escaping
into the memory of time while waves increase to
strength and height. Trees sway in delight. Limbs
scrape together in kinship and fond discovery.
Movements within the island continue their dance.
Stars shelter the island's 'pot-pourri' of activity. A
dazzling glory draws warmth from the island and
returns a brilliance that provides night's illumination.
Diamond-like sprinkling is a gift that penetrates
the very core of the island's rock bed of strength.
The night rises and falls as each new wonder
manifests itself. Time is measured in the softness
of the moss and gift of velvet coating. Its sweeping
ferns parade forward as wave after cresting wave
provides a flagship of pride. Without warning the
dark is like a fading comet. Its sliver of morning sun
signals sleep and tired forest and creatures obey.
Richard L. Provencher 2009
All Rights Reserved
Dear Readers: My wife, Esther and I, are pleased to share our Copyright work which you may use freely for non-commercial purposes. We appreciate all comments on our efforts. Send to: firstname.lastname@example.org. We live in Truro, Nova Scotia, Canada. Pray for family and friends. Also learn to forgive.
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