Archive
09/26/11 - (1)
Reclaiming
This no-telling-how-long-I'll-be-gone Monday of my going — My departure from the civilized wilds of this village, To the uncivilized business of the city —
A dense, argenteous fog envelops these becalmed waters, Such that all I can really visualize Is what I see with memory's eyes, imagination's sense of place;
Otherwise, were I to step out to dock's end, tentatively, I could easily believe I'd reached the end . . . the end of something, The world's edge or the last inch of the universe itself.
Close by shore, two mallards and a hooded merganser Are tipping into the shallows, for last-minute vegetation, Taking advantage of the lack of competition, before migrating.
One loon, keeping its distance from the other aquatic feeders, And of a more ravenous temperament, is gorging, Possibly fearing that winter begins today.
Now, peering into the immense overwhelm of fog, I can feel it starting to break up or break down — Either way, dissipating, scattering, turning into cosmic mist,
Wispy white fibers drawn into the sky's thinning reaches As if by the beaks of hovering hummingbirds. Within minutes, the lake has reclaimed its shape, identity,
And I, who've been defined by it, all week, reclaim mine — Those contours of my soul, washed by this water, That essence of my being, laved by its waves.
09/26/11 - (1)
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