North
July 4 2008


On the first day out
you’re up with the sun, paddling hard
— making sure you get over
at least one portage.

Because then, everything changes,
stepping-out into the clearing
at the water’s edge.
The lake, open.
Wilderness as far as the Arctic Ocean
thousands of miles north.
Getting by
on muscle alone.

Most of all, you notice the silence
. . . and then the sound,
creatures that you’ll never glimpse
you know are keeping watch.
The manic howling of wolves
after dark.
A loon’s haunting call,
echoing over the water.
And out of nowhere
the sharp slap of a beaver,
like a gun-shot going-off.

There is mystery in these sounds
and purpose.
So you paddle your canoe
without saying a word,
smooth quiet strokes.
For now, you feel like an intruder.
But in a couple of weeks
heading back
you will have earned your place here,
and these sounds as familiar as home.

Still, they keep their distance,
with so much space
in which to disappear.