 Sunday Morning at Lac Cayamant This sanctuary suits me. Feathery dew clings as I tip-toe through an aisle of sweet green grass in the pre-dawn blush. The lake’s rendition of the sky is accurate, but somehow, more appealing. I reflect on this some muted pink moments. My best hush Still alerts Madame and Monsieur Duck Allons-y, I hear As they corral their little ones back toward the reeds Ah, Mama, si tôt? These babes are younger than the Canadian Geese rafting past my red chair at the end of the dock. Twenty- three altogether, and maybe a dozen teenagers, old enough now to swim ahead impatiently. The marsh is a cathedral of chorus; Scores of voices cry their welcome to the sun as if this certainty is everyday a surprise! A gift! Hallelujah! Heron’s raucous dissonance carries counterpoint to the joyful trills and whistles. The graceful sentry sweeps across the purpling surface while smaller birds hoot and whistle at his straight and studious line. Fish jump – for bugs, I know – but who’s to say it’s not for joy – with such a glorious setting, with such a choir. I’d hoped to see my friend, turtle, but he sleeps late – even later than the red-winged blackbirds, who take the stage like headliners, confident in the admiration of the warm-up birds rushed now into the wings. The sage loons prefer to make their morning prayers alone, but one invites me to worship, not twenty feet from the softly undulating dock I ride. I will join you, I whisper But I didn't have to tell her. She knew. July 16, 2017
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