The mist is rising

From dark moving waters

Of a river from

Times gone by

Sculptured rocks materialize

Through the fine mist

Tall stately pines

That guard the rugged shorelines

Of the dark moving waters

They were mere saplings

In the time of the voyageurs

Who paddled the dark

Moving waters of the French

Onwards in their yearly journeys

To and from their destinations

The dip of the paddles

The sound of canoes

Slicing through the dark waters

The shear rock walls

Like the halls of time

Echo with voyageur’s songs

A young bull moose

Emerges from the darkness

Of the receding night

Its horns glistening with morning dew

In search of a drink

From the dark moving water

A river otter quietly surfaces

From the dark moving waters

To feed on clams from

The dark river bottom

Cracking open its prize

To feed on the flesh

To be found within

The day is slowly emerging

From the shadows and mist

The eerie lonesome call

Of the Common Loon

Is heard in the distance

A Bald Eagle drifts

The warming air currents

Looking for a meal

To feed its hungry siblings

A warm South wind

Whispers through the trees

The mist has risen

From the dark moving waters

Scattered islands and rocky points

Appear in the morning light

The land is now awaken

To the coming new day