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
for 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.
More in a blog tomorrow which will feature pictures and a closer look at word choice.
For those who can't wait...