Soft light, diffused and filtered,
From unseen source.
Sounds, scents, magnified
With mystic force.
Hanging low in morning calm,
The fog’s soft cloak.
Drifting out from perch unseen,
A raven’s croak.
Breathless, over water’s surface,
Our wake’s soft voice.
Magic silence, guarded safely,
The paddlers’ choice.
Heading in to crescent shoreline,
Now close at hand.
Softly in the fragile quiet,
Canoe on sand.
Unveiled at last, the portage trail
Through mist appears.
Leads to timeless ways of knowing
The spirit hears.
~poem by Howard Myers
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