Archive
09/21/09 - (2)
Pontoon Plane
For a too-brief interlude, This infinitely quiet Saturday afternoon, The drone of a single-engine pontoon plane (Circling, three times, the lake's perimeter, To assess whatever surface traffic might be occurring, The direction of its prevailing breezes) Only heightens the silence of this day, for me.
I'm conscious of the plane's intrusion into this air space, If for no other reason than that it awakens me To the contemporaneous nature of grace, Makes me aware of just how precious quiescence is, Especially when it's wrested from our expectations — The state of blasé smugness we suffer, From relying on what comes without cost to us.
Soon, I hear the plane growing louder, As it goes slower, lower, closer to the water's runway, Heading into the wind blowing northerly, Out of the bay, where the YMCA camp slumbers. Then, my ears detect the engine winding, Driving that yellow, silver-winged bird Toward where I'm standing on the shore, below my cabin.
Before the plane can find a dock, idle its prop, Its invisible pilot maneuvers it, a hundred eighty degrees, Until it's facing southerly, its engine roaring, Its tiny body racing across the mild chop, lifting, lifting, Lumbering over Honeymoon Point, Trailing its low, lone drone behind it, like an ad banner, Rising just over the tree line, higher, veering left,
Out of sight, its lingering roar growing soft, softer, Then, not five minutes later, reverberant, once more, As it descends again, very low, over my cabin, Unnerving my bones, making another deft landing. Suddenly, the pontoon plane's gone forever, Leaving Saturday afternoon's quietude to my keeping. I can't wait to see what the lake and I decide to do with it.
09/21/09 - (2)
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