Early one misty morning
the Widow Wyile sets off
to the big bay with her trusty
red kayak where they
and their friends squelch
through mud    over   barnacled rocks
and into lowering water
to paddle to the point
just before the Split 

the water moves in small swells
green-brown undulations
mini-mounds slap their hulls
bounce them gently about
in the morning quiet
as the rocky seaweed forested
shore rises above them 

the shifting silver lace pattern
dancing atop the swells
mesmerizes the Widow Wyile
drifts her into a reverie
as her paddle dips and draws
steadily left right left right
right left
her eyes following the quadrille
of mercury shimmers
dancing smooth and swift
following their own flow
to the Widow’s endless fascination
her boat scooting along
seemingly a world unto itself
though really not 

such a different waking
from most other days
complete with seal head sightings
wondering perhaps who
these interlopers are dipping
and drawing their paddles
through Fundy brine
before sliding head
then snout
back beneath the sea

The return approaching noon
dazzles with greater insistence
under blue sun skies
dotted with a long trail of puff
clouds all the way to Annapolis
for now the dancing lights
dazzle bright like fey
swamp lures but at mid day
on open water and rising tide
the flickers beckon
a visual white light song
calling you to seek the lost
Queendom within
to slip into the sea
and gloriously become a beacon too
all whole earth elemental

goodness and balance

            free of the invisible supersonic jets
            roaring their fierce secret threats
            back and forth
far overhead
disturbing the seeming
calm below