A Sacred Place

To gaze uponA field of wild flowersUnfurling in the early dawnDrinking drops of dewTheir brilliant colorsPeering throughA haze of silver steamAscending toA sky with streaks of crimsonTurning blue...To hear the silence broken byA melancholy tuneResounding echoesOf the Northern LoonAs she glides upon a placid lakeLeaving ripples in her misty wakeThat dissipateAnd sink beneathThe black Muskoka waterWhere millennia’sOf fallen leavesSleep eternallyIn deathTheir beautyRising from the depthsIn pungent whiffsOf perfumeMade of foliage in decayGiving back to natureWhat they took awayIn lifeIn autumnSetting hills ablazeWith their coatsOf many colorsOn display...Their memoriesStill linger in the airAs I dip the wooden oars thereIn the tranquil water whereI see myself reflectedIn the liquid glassI skim alongAs sunlight steals the dawn...In this sacred placeWhere I findThe spirit of the Great White NorthAn ancient God of natureOld as timeThat whispers to meThrough the pinesAnd peace at lastIs mine.