Island of Awe
Island of awe
Rustling leaves drifting through the streams of sun
that touches the cones on the pine,
Whispers of wind ruffle the needles that span
mingling with others and become entwined.
Trickles of smoke arising over tops of trees
that nestle along the lakeside oe’r yonder
Cabins setting back from the embankment
Reflections marveled, a time to ponder.
Faint sounds of loons hasten by the blowing winds
that intensifies their presence beneath the open sky,
A dusting of dew settles on some driftwood
Golden rod abundantly flourishing nearby.
Vintage boats with oars tied at the dock on
the tiny island that boast about its oneness
The enchantment of it all nourishes the beholder
This place has awe and a tone so wondrous.
It’s tucked back in the far corner of this lake
like a remote evergreen home and so well preserved,
Few birds check in, a muskrat makes his place
A place of solitude, utmost tranquil and reserved.
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