The Lake Mist – a poem by Cynthia Pitman

The Lake Mist

When the sun sets west
and the night birds sound,
the warm day’s air cools soft,
and a certain peace 
falls lightly all around.
I take to the secrets of the woods.
A path is hidden by the dark, 
but it is there.
I know where.
I follow it, light-footed
like the other creatures here
who prowl the night.
I seek the sight of the lake 
that waits under cover
of gray mist filled with midges
in restless flight.
I take a last step on the path.
The lake appears.
I am drawn to the shore 
by the beckoning hands 
of the slight lapping waves.
I move toward them
and stand silent on the sand,
rapt in prayers of mortal praise.
I sing in my soul
the song of the mystic mist
that sits softly on the water,
at rest in its reunion with the lake –
just as I am.
We stay transfixed together
in unbound time.
But the midges scold me
with their flitting darts in the dark. 
They want no part of me. 
My intrusion upsets
the balance of lake and mist
and midges in flight.
I breathe in the night and sigh,
then turn back and take to the woods
to follow the secret path
that darkness hides
and be led from the holy mysteries
of world and time.

 

Cynthia Pitman, a former high school Advanced Placement English teacher from Orlando, Florida, has had poetry published by Amethyst Review, Right Hand Pointing, Three Line Poetry, Third Wednesday (contest finalist), Vita Brevis, Leaves of Ink, Ekphrastic Review, Postcard Poems and Prose, Adelaide, and others. Her book, The White Room, is forthcoming.

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