Can’t resist one more shot from our Adirondack weekend:
Adirondacks: Late Summer 1948
The spruce are dense above the lake.
A thick, gray driftwood, sharp and bent,
Margins the shore with heavy lines.
The overhanging aspens shake
Their dry, deciduous sediment
Into the cool, reflected pines.
There is a limit here of tree
And water: form has gained its end,
Lost in the continual reflection.
Through shade the glossy visions flee
And in a darker calm distend
Downward in shadowy perfection.
Across the lake at evening, wild
And distant, like unhallowed ghosts,
The loons converse. Rotten and dank,
The logs jut rudely: split and piled
They slant into the dusk like posts
Unearthed and cast against the bank.