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.
