Faithfully returning to Chantry Isle-
Though just in deep reflection-I cross the lake
with a stowaway wickie* who brightly smiles.
The boat, Our Lady, barely makes a wake.
We lean into the wind, drawing nearer
to Great Egrets crowning one weathered tree
on the sanctuary. So white the birds are,
as white as the limestone lighthouse. We
step onto a shore, approach the tower
and enter. I'd forgotten how reverent
even lamps, companions to lonely hours,
bless those watchers for beacons are God-sent.
Later, a found feather is clasped like a quill,
its keeper whispers, See? There be angels!
*A wickie is a slang term for a lighthouse keeper as they were ever trimming
This poem is for an angel of Soup, Gail, who I've long called our Lighthouse.
I know she loves them, too, so I hope she likes this.
Chantry is a small island just off the shores of Southampton, Ontario with a
meticulously restored lighthouse and tower. The Island is also a bird sanctuary, known
hfr its Great Egrets. I long ago toured this gem of the Great Lakes and fell madly in love with its tranquility, but there was also great loneliness in its isolation from the mainland.