Seldom do I write cantatory poems, but last Thanksgiving during a week at a Northern lake, my rhythm changed. The poem “Casting Off” feels to me almost like prayer. Out of awareness comes oneness.
When mist hangs thick as cloud blanketing the dark lake in translucent veil magical and mysterious walk the damp path beyond alizarin maples glistening birch-bark and hemlock soaring skyward rough bark breathing moss and fungi shallow roots clinging to ancient bedrock walk out onto the dock feel the quiver of your weight settle breathe wood smoke as the sun bursts through in topaz glow.
Kathryn MacDonald Devour: Art & Lit Canada (page 42)
Before the sun burst through the mist, a fisher-guy broke the quiet and entered the cloaked world: