Oastler In October

Ostler in October silent we drift beneath the march of pines toward the shore. needles dry underfoot each step scented like grandma’s closet. heady with freedom laughter erupts spontaneously mundane time loses its grip. by the lake we murmur, as water on pebbles heads together soft words remove all of the stings of life; soothing ears, hearts battered and sore. all the while we move in a slow procession of letting go. cross dinosaur’s back, grey ancient rock rising above the forest floor smooth as prehistoric skin we wonder at the images it feeds our care freed minds. climb to the rough granite ridge above a small inlet marvel at a spirit rock rising out of the dark waters. we study its mottled surface to find the ogres, the fairy maid a white snake flows up to the crest faces of elders peer back. they have never let us down keep watch for our return. across the unmoving pool one young sugar maple displays its fall uniform proudly as it honours the magic it guards. life is returned to us here; profound silences pull mediocrity from thought, clarity blossoms, fruits poetry spills from our pores words are scribbled on napkins. this late in the year each camp is an island blessed sound travels with respect touching but not intruding upon free souls. we are barely aware.