Early Morning At Babine Lake

I followed a narrow leaf-strewn trail
down from my campsite
to the placid water's edge.

The lake covered its secrets like a mirror,
smooth multi-colored stones cobbled its shallows.

Birds warbbled and gossiped in busy cacauphony,
a flicker rattled a tree trunk, a grouse drummed his passion,
a trout lept with a splash, loons sailed fishing by,
a moment of reverence,
 then,
one met me eye to eye and flew,
wings beating in labourious panic.

Moments of meditative silence,
then,
nearby, a quiet family of swimming ducks.

Peacefulness torn remotely at distant edges
like mist when
somewhere a squirrel scolded.

I sat on a gnarled root at the foot of a great life,
a cottonwood tree, very still, growing there,
a gnarled man, a poet watching God's world
from a window in his poem.

Life is for moments like this,
thoughts leaning branches,
reflections undulating upon gentle
water.