The Loons in Autumn

The loons circled the lake this morning,

gliding by my front porch where I sat,

heavy in thought and coffee laden.

They moved slowly, closer to shore,

against a backdrop of summer green

muting to golds and reds in the cool air

of approaching autumn. It’s a time of farewells:

the summer people are leaving, back to their homes,

somewhere else, their camps closed against the winter ahead,

the docks pulled, and the boats stored away.

The loons, too, will be leaving soon, bound for the coast,

a winter home, leaving their young behind to follow,

to find their own way, as adolescents do.

For us remaining, we who call this place home,

life slows down again, becomes quiet,

as we prepare ourselves for the winter’s snow,

stopping our daily task to watch them,

mesmerized still, silent in their swimming

or giving a short hoot, a brief goodbye,

their slow farewell against a backdrop

of summer green muting to golds and reds

in the cool air of approaching autumn.

“Farewell, my friends, fare thee well.”