Danny's Home

Yesterday I passed a tranquil evening with an old friend.
I felt his presence on the banks of Canadice as I rested my weary bones on an old log,
my feet in the clear water, and heard the twilight bursting
with the melody of the mirrored lake going to bed.

I watched the creeping shadows of the dark mountain blend into blackness,
the night painting a ghostly scene of still-life.
Nothing moving, not a sound.
Sparkling stars emerged above,
the timeless signal for the second shift of creatures of the night
to begin their vigil over the wilderness.

The shrill echo of a loon's call traveled the length of the lake
and back again in an instant.
A small fish surfaced nearby, sending ripples of silver arcing to infinity,
and rings of starlight lapped at my toes.

I was lost in time, remembering that he had shown me this tranqil place so long ago,
as he had shown me other lakes, valleys and high places with views to forever,
all havens of refuge for a tired soul.
Even now I seek out his old haunts for the peace that I find there,
and quietly join with his spirit on the shores of Canadice,
Danny's home forever.

Nigel P Kent, 1998.