loons on forrest lake

                      —For Sandy and Dave

A wind-weary faded November day

reflects in the silver mirror

of the lake,

invites a flock of loons

appearing to convene a meeting.

Their stark black heads,

bright white necks,

duck and weave, leave

trails of jet streams, then

circle back like water ballet.


Shades of gray, not autumn

or winter,

water the color of pewter

and rain-laden clouds

hold these elegant birds.

They frolic and play,

glad the boats are hauled ashore,

while silver-haired folks like us

watch with binocs by a crackling fire,

benignly accepting this season

of our numbered days.


            Gail (Oct. ’09) says, “I wrote this poem while I was visiting our friends and neighbors a few years ago. Lo and behold, Harry and I got married and now I live in the same area — but not on the lake! The fall foliage has been spectacular. The woods are a lovely orange… and I don’t want to think about December, thank you!”


* a poem from the Nov/Dec 2009 edition of Ninepatch *

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