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
Ken Bennison's Photography 