Marjorie A. Buettner...

At the Lake

The lake is glass this early morning showing a depth of sky. I walk down to the water's edge and enter its reflection: the morning moon and unseen stars circle my head and the sun, just up, makes golden whatever it touches. From a distance a loon cry echoes sending ripples of sensation through me like waves rippling out from a just thrown stone. I belong to know one but his morning at the lake. It possesses me like the wind possesses a sail taking me for all that I am worth.

watching shapes of clouds move across the open lake . . . summer solstice

WHCHaibun 2009-06-21