Monday, July 29, 2013

A Blessing on David Pond

I wake early and at once
to the still, small Voice 
urging me to, 
"Go to the water."
"Must I?" I ask.
"Yes, you must," it answers.
"Now?"
"Yes now please, and hurry."

I fumble quickly into clothes
stumble fuzzily down the path
rubbing from my eyes 
the remnants of bright and vivid 
dreams, wondering
what all the fuss is about, 
really. 

I climb carefully into the shadowy canoe,
put oar to dark water, the plish of it
the only sound moving me slowly
away from shore,
just a woman in a canoe
on a quiet lake in the early morning,
just obeying the Voice even though
I haven't had my morning coffee yet.

From behind me, from the north,
comes the sound of a bird - I think
it is a plain old duck even though only loons
live here - and as it flies high above me
I hear the bellows of its lungs as if at a forge,
their wheezy sound like a squeeze toy, 
fanning hard the flames of its wings
and when it turns and comes back 

its flight path is directly over my canoe and
with a sudden and endless wave of sound it is 
calling and calling and calling, hooting its
forlorn cry without pause 
in its other-worldly voice
and I am riveted in my seat,
enveloped in a dome of sound, wrapped
in a music that stuns me 
into stillness and silence,
into tears and goosebumps,
a music that 
washes over me 
like a blessing. 

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