With kayaks and food galore
the Widow Wyile wends her way
with women four to a pleasing lake
lively with lovely loons
in widespread waterdance
greater than any lake she’s swum before 

Perched atop a majestical rock
sloping steeply into balmy fresh
waters the women bask
in idyllic moments full
sunshine   friendship   wisdom
huckleberries  stars  and  loon calls

Loon language envelops them
at all hours with a sense
of something larger
primordial   magical   moving
the wail an eerie assertion
presence a bit forlorn
perhaps because it resonates
with their own sense
of something lost
some longing waiting
patiently within 

so many haunting phrases
exchanged from far across
the waters and close to shore
the night especially is active
with tremolos    yodels    wails
far reaching conversation
feeding sound healing
suggestions into their dreamscapes
a welcome asylum
deep with mysteries
unfettered 

On their last rock lounging
afternoon the women watch
a parental pair teaching
their two fledglings
loon ways and skills
water-top wing flaps
dives and more
then leave them
for practice time
on their own
until with small cries
hoot     hoot
they reunite
unafraid and content
even as the women
quietly enter the water
to join them
reverent and amazed
to share this family
moment
with their elegant
feathered kin