Migration
The sun is glinting off the silver birches
Silver trees sheltering secrets in their silent shade
The wind is frolicking
Chasing and teasing the clouds
As they draw themselves away
Struggling to retain dignity
The lake shimmers in the golden sunlight
A flutter of waves dancing across the surface, laugh
Smiling at me
Out of the quietness a loon flies across the lake
Calling, calling, calling
My heart responds and I long to stay
Forever caught up in the sunlight
In this moment, safe in your arms
Like a bee encased in sun-filled amber
From long ago
But as the wild geese fly South before winter
To warmer, softer climes
So too I long to fly
I heard the geese crying, echoing my tears
As they went southwards
Poem Written in: Pickle Lake, North-western Ontario | July 1979