Turtle Lake
Darkened pool swallows the day above,
reflecting a cloud raven that
hangs above camp,
poised like a dove.
Tent rises.
Painted turtle shell.
Head out, neck craned,
leatherlike, limbs and skin stretch
toward the last heat of the setting sun.
This shrinking Autumn space
days brief and thinned,
holds more than the vanishing colors
that whisper about in the wind,
leaves scrape, fall,
fortunate in flight for seconds
at most.
Balanced between two worlds,
the living, fluid green
and the dry ground underfoot.
Lifted from branch and brothers.
Given the choice to never land,
would we chase the raven through the sky?
Or lay ourselves down on the granite
and listen to the heartbeat of the Earth.
Drawn back into the water’s maw.
©Timothy James Stouffer 09212018
All Rights Reserved Ely, MN