Beyond
Michigan’s sandy view
North of Huron’s
emerald hue
Lie forests for
interminable expanse
Where waters
flow and spirits dance.
Nearer now to
cold, rocky shores
And winds the voyageurs
endured
Just south of
taciturn Superior
A river calls to
be explored.
So on a gilded
afternoon
In July when
babes and spirits viewed
A moment’s rest,
my burdened soul
Sought our boots
and reached for pole
And set foot to
path and clambered on
Beside the sweet
Tahquamenon.
The boisterous
crowds soon gave way
To jarring call
of crow and jay
Which seemed to
echo mine own heart
Where anxiety
seemed was sport.
Soon languid
tufts of ruddy foam
Appeared as
steps led far from home,
My heart, too,
slowed and stilled
As those lapping
waters spilled
At the feet of
ancient spruce
Speaking of some
forsaken truth.
While upon the
land the earth held court
Each forest
dweller taking part:
The chipmunk,
ever bold and daring,
Dashing here and
there, never caring
Upon whose path
he dared to tread
Whether
underfoot or overhead.
Fox snake curls
in heat of day
Out to soak each
sun-kissed ray
Basking in the
nourishing warmth
Bringing
liveliness to mind and form.
Redstart stark
and ever flitting
To and fro,
never sitting
Or wasting any
precious hour
Beneath homely
bough or bower.
Slowed, in time,
my steps become
As I can
opposing banks for some
Sight of the
jovial otter
The precocious
kin of nobler brothers
Til I alight
upon a bench
Disturbing a
formerly idling finch
And stare upon
the tumbling waters
To seek the
peace that patience fosters
Watching damsels
flit where they please
And the gentle
swaying of the trees.
Such beauty born
of elegance
Of simplicity
and gentleness
Free from the
day’s vile intrusions
And my troubled
mind’s delusions.
In now swoops
the hummingbird
In wonder, my
heart says not a word
As she aloft and
hovering
Alights a bush
most flowering
And all at once
darts away
To unknown
resting place to stay
And with her
does my doubt depart
And something
deeper did she impart
For ‘neath
arching hemlocks my soul finds rest,
My stirrings
stop, my worries cease.
While waters
rush to quickening boil
And weary feet
beneath me toil
My spirit
tarries ‘tween frond and fen
On the shores of
sweet Tahquamenon.
The Maker’s call
I hear anew
Where beneath my
feet tannic waters brew,
Abiding always,
I understand,
Where’re do His
children stand.
Yet here, oh
here, I perceive it clear
That voice once
so achingly near;
That voice that
often slips away
In the tumult of
the world’s sway.
Alone beneath
the cedar stand
On bracken
floors in northern lands
The peace of
Christ again descends
As placid as the
river bends.
When my
footsteps take me far
Where the sky is
veiled and no star
Dares to shine,
foreboding dread
And I lie
sleepless on my bed
I’ll trust not
the works of fickle men
Nor the poets
hoary pen;
I’ll ponder not
dark possibilities
Or resign myself
to eccentricities
But seek Him
while He may be found
On holy land; on
hallowed ground.
I’ll dream of
days and miles long gone
And glories of
Tahquamenon.
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