photo: patricia wellingham-jones
by Patricia Wellingham-Jones
On our usual bench
, we listen Lake Almanor
to ravens croak among pines
and grebes call in the middle of the lake.
With our own words winding down
small water sounds emerge:
tiny slap of wavelets against a stony shore,
the rise of wind pushing its blue path
and the faint splash as ducks dive
beneath the sparkling surface.
Loon-song haunts a distant cove,
carries us somewhere
we never knew.
~ first published in Brevities