The sound of a Loon echoes
through the wilderness,
The setting sun kisses the tops of the cedars,
Staining the clouds with warm pink and red hues,
As the day deliberately makes its way toward the horizon.
Trout leap from the lakes shimmering in the fading light,
There is calm and peace,
Amongst the Adirondack pine.
This place is silence's last stand,
Her only chance against the endless bustle,
Nature's last true eastern wilderness.
Pure white snow clings to each
branch of the pines,
They shimmer like diamonds in the winter breeze,
Icy cold air blows with reckless abandon through the forest,
Causing the snow to shake free from its branches,
Fluttering ever so softly to the ground,
Dark-eyed Junco's follow the drifting snow,
To frolic about in the icy world below.
The golden sky reflects off of the frozen tundra,
I sit and recline, watching nature do her work,
Left in awe by the beauty and wonder of much-maligned winter,
Wondering if she may be the most beautiful of all.
I watched a thousand rays of light trickle from a neon moon,
As I glided across the icy lake listening to the bellowing of a loon,
Life was still and calm, but I feared morning would come too soon.
Shrouded in the dark of night,
Breathing in that sacred moonlight,
I stood finally at peace with no one left to fight.
I made my way back toward the shore,
And readied myself as I had done before,
Yet nothing was the same evermore.
A mist hangs over the morning like a curtain of white,
The cool air rolls across my skin,
Bluebirds twirl in the air above my head,
A feeling of joy overtakes me,
As I move deliberately toward the rolling river.
The white-capped river churns with a newness,
Refreshed by rains of the night before,
It roars as if announcing its rebirth,
The mist bounces off its waves,
With an energy that fills the air around it.
This morning I am like the river,
Refreshed born anew and looking toward the horizon,
Roaring with energy,
Ready for a new beginning.