The lake sings in ripples.
I cannot hear its music quite,
yet know it's beautiful, alive
and true.
Twelve gulls burst bright
in wild play, white feathered
bells, scintillas of light, ring
across their stage of sky.
Their melodic flight dapples
and sweetens my ears, hair kissed
by rolling wind, skin pleased
by hovering sun.
I stand in mud and tall grass
to give thanks for this shimmering
surprise, these breezes of calm
and colored chaos, this quiet
background tune.
My eyes replenished turn
to the long hill beyond
where I shall ease too soon
onto the slim path clear to home.
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