In the early hours of morning
Misty clouds rise from the lake,
They twist and swirl and slowly rise
'Till soon a bigger cloud they make.

The sun is trying to break through
With rays that gently warm the day,
The mist still lingers on, like dreams
That slowly fade when dawn turns grey.

The tree tops bathed in sunshine bright
Show promise of what is to be,
Blue skies and warmth, a gentle breeze
A splendid day for us to see.

The Seagull

There's a seagull here close by,
A fascinating bird to see.
He sits most times upon a rock,
Just off the shore, alone and free.

Most times he's quiet, and quite still
Untill another gull
Comes near in the vicinity,
And then, gone is the lull.

He'll scream and holler, what a fuss,
You'd think he owned that rock.
Most fly around him and don't stay,
Not even for a talk.

Somehow he seems to act a lot
Like what "we" do and say,
Because of poor experiences,
We chase our friend away.

And so we sit alone and think
That life is hard, with no amends,
Instead of opening our hearts,
So letting in some real true friends.

Memories of the Tim

The feelings that come over me
As I think about the Tim
Bring emotions that are varied
Some of them are rather dim.

We met this river at Shaw Lake
One warm and muggy day,
By the time we reached old Shippegew
Our minds could only say . . .

"Never, ever will we plan
To do that river route once more",
The thought still has me cringe and shake
It even makes my muscles sore.

Bugs, mosquitos everywhere
Their whining never ceases,
There is no escaping them out there
I almost went to pieces.

The river winds and turns and twists
Like a snake, all curves and bends,
You paddle on and on and on
And you swear it never ends.

When you've paddled several miles
Then glance back from where you came,
The actual progress that was made
Just a few meters, what a shame.

The winding, twisting little line
On the map so squiggly and so neat,
Can bring tears to my eyes. I'd say
That's one trip I'll never repeat.

The Wind

Wind, O wind,
When will you ever rest?
Blowing, yes blowing,
Almost always from the west.

Slowly, or swiftly,
Around the corners you do creep,
Sometimes very gently,
You rock the world to sleep.

Whistling through the treetops,
The stately pines all sway,
Then swooping for the waters low,
You pick them up into a spray.

Dark clouds move swiftly through the sky
With a storm, that you did blow,
Unpredictable, mighty winds,
When will you ever go?

Dusk

When dusk turns into darkness
There is a soothing calm,
Among the trees and rivers,
Where the deer walks with her fawn.

Sometimes the fog comes rolling
Over the mountain top,
Or a gust of wind comes around the bend,
Not knowing where to stop.

Another time the sun will fade
And turn the rocks to gold,
I tell you, It's a wonderful land,
For the free, and the strong, and the bold.