Forever Wild
Striking blues and greens and pristine whites,
A moving portrait, stirring all the senses.
Boats briefly add base tones,
While kayaks kiss gentle lake waves silently.
Rhythmic, lapping water, like lullabies, emanate,
Lake sings sonatas. Loons yodel arias.
Whispering trees play muffled snares in accompaniment.
Glacial mountains are the backdrop
Of a moving, breathing, vital landscape,
Where life transforms magically, into living art.
Rustic cabins, family ‘Camps’, and boathouses,
Old and new, planks and logs, red, brown, pine-colored,
Frame the shore like a picturesque needlepoint.
The Adirondack high peaks trap pillowy clouds and welcome hikers
To a sacred place where black bear and deer roam freely.
All the families, the generations, the traditions here,
Weave the wonderment of it, the ‘forever-ness’ of it,
“God’s Country” fulfills its ancient destiny year after year,
It is the Brigadoon of our hearts and dreams,
And by it, we are supremely blessed.
Poem: November 18
November 18
The squirrels are up, they dash about.
I’m up as well – but don’t go out
to sit or walk. Why? I’ll explain.
It’s mid-November: Wind, and Rain.
Oh, I’ve been out in rain before.
And wind – that’s something I adore.
So why stay in? Because it’s cozy.
It’s good not every day is rosy.
At times we like a break from bright
to help us keep a sharper sight:
what seems opposed, like yang and yin,
or dark and light, are always in
a dance, connected. So I decide
this morning I’ll just sit inside.
My chair, my blanket and my tea
will let me ponder, cozily,
November’s contrasts: bluster, charm,
chilly outside, inside warm.
Photo at top: Wikimedia Commons photo.