My Montana

My Montana
My Montana

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Boundary Waters

I wrote the following during my solo time in  Quetico- the Canadian side of the Lake Area.  But it applies equally to all the protected lands that have been dimpled by glaciers leaving chains of lakes. And the pictures are from this trip since I wasn't taking pictures on that long-ago trip.

Boundary waters - waters of marshy streams playing with the unending tresses of grass as they wind sensuously through the pike's grassland home and past the beaver's lodge.

Boundary waters - blackwater lakes where the walleye play and the water is deep and cold, giving rise to the mist mares of morning and the clouds of evening.

Boundary waters - whitewater eruptions within placid streams or at the juncture of lake and stream - boiling, hissing, rising, falling.

 Boundary waters - singing waters - tiny melodies against the grass, exuberant concerts of the waterfalls, smaller chorus of the rock gardens, the chant of waves on rocks - carrying the song of the white throated and song sparrow, the melody of the hermit thrush, the eerie call of the loon, the foghorn bellow of the moose; then filled with an almost perfect silence, interrupted only by the whisper of wind or splashing of water along the shore.

Boundary waters - reflecting the pewter bark of birches, dark green spruces, light green, pink, silver, and golden moss, pale green ferns, grey, black, reddish rocks, and pink and white clouds, somehow more than doubling their loveliness.  Reflecting white gulls, the black and white of loons, the red and gray of the mergansers flying only feet above its surface.

Boundary waters dimpling with fish feeding, water striders striding, dented by fishing gulls, rent by diving beaver, osprey, otter and loon.

Boundary waters - from liquid to vapor to liquid again on my tent and on the trees and mossy earth which soaks them up to hold against the drying time.

Boundary waters - the stuff of life; the stuff of dreams.