Fresh breezes cross the light-dappled lake,
Clearing cobwebs and cicatrixes in its wake.
The old red Camp clock spins backward.
Zephyrs of air sweep old ghosts
Above the lapping waves to sweet release.
Soon, curlicues of cumulus clouds drift in,
Rolling across water like boats and angels.
A distant loon’s trailing trill heralds new rain.
All around, mountains reassure us, saying,
“Nothing changes in this place,
Except the generations.
Here, pines purify man’s pestilence,
Tall trees renew, protect, promise.
Here, you are linked to your origins, welcomed,
And made whole once more”
Nurturing forest spirits, forever wild,
Bear kind witness to the fragile dreams of men,
And here,upon the wings of the North Wind itself,
Hopes fly free.