Sunlight dapples misting waterway.
Golden sheen blankets an aging warmth,
All life in reflecting pause,
To see the final dying of the light,
As if tomorrow may never come,
Mist follows way as if grasping for the fading day,
Knowing it is a thing of night but reaching for the other,
Its memory plays the perpetual jest in advent renewal,
We who venture bold to places unknown,
Where water is king and nature yet holds sway,
Where memories old behold in mute testimony,
Struggles of life,
And death.
Where dark ended woods reach out with gnarled hands,
I sense no love exists for those on two legs,
So have a care and hold fast your paddle,
For we are  invaders in an ordered land,
as we search for some semblance of shelte,
While we become the wild things mist dampens the fire,
Huddle for the morrow and hold fast the night.
With dampened brow we receive the dawn,
As nature runs riot in the beaming herald of morn,
Back we go lads on the green marsh way,
Where warmth is good,
And life is just life.

(c)2016 Michael James Garlan