Mono Lake
It is a singular place
a high plains lake of isolation
where erratic waves
slap the shoreline
in haunting echoes
that blow away with the wind.
It is a place of the “nearly dead”
of caution and decay
yellowish foam forms at its edges
creating abstract designs
that disappear in the sand.
I can hear liquid songs
flowing forth from rippling currents
mesmerizing, hypnotizing
moving in the shimmering sunlight.
Tufa towers stand stoic
rising randomly above the water
like obscure, calcified aliens
in a scene that is as mysterious
as the majesty of its Maker.
High winds are howling
when suddenly I need
a respite, a reprieve
for this place suits the vultures
eared grebes call it their home
as sun sets over the horizon
I know it is time to go.
Such is Mono Lake
a mystical, other worldly place
where silent stars shine bright
on a black, moonless night
over the baneful, barren lake below.
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