Glass Surface

Faint sounds, of

The morn chorus

And a lack of sun

To be seen. There is

No avoiding dewdrops.

Patiently waiting for

A simple touch.

A steady gray, blankets

Everything.

A low growl sounds, as

The kayak scraps across

The damp ground, yearning

For a taste, of

Its home.

A small splash sounds. And

As it pushes off,

The grains of sand,

Underneath can be

Felt through the paddle.

Almost as if, it should

Sing. The small waves

Ripple against the

Foreign bob.

The glass surface

Lies unbroken, yet

So fragile.

The line of trees

Fade away. Revealing a burst

Of colors in the

Sky, and reflected

In a mirror.

Farther along,

And everything

Has turned gold.

Loons cry out

Their mourning song.

In the reflection,

Seen by leaning,

Despite the dark circles,

And tired eyes,

Is beauty

For I am free.