Boundary Waters

 Boundary Waters

A bit of a misnomer.

Here nature knows no boundaries between nations, lines that only humans recognize. 

A shining water wilderness.

Myriad lakes to explore by canoe, to quench one’s thirst for the real.

Another lake just a portage away, a water trail seemingly endless.

What awaits your discovery?

A mother moose and her calf wade the shallows, heading toward an island, safer from wolves.

A rock headland, an ancient chapel for those living here in the old times,

A place where spirits dwell, given homage by images in red ochre on a canvas of stone.

A whitetail buck surprised by this unfamiliar two-legs, snorts, challenges.

Loons sing their songs of the North: wails, yodels, nervous laughs.

Mergansers, so dissimilar in appearance they prove opposites attract, dive for fish.

A beaver crosses the bow of the canoe, smacks his tail to warn others, then dives.

A red squirrel hangs out with you under the tarp in the rain, no doubt attracted by your granola.

On a deep woods trail, a paw print says a wolf recently shared this portage.

Massive cedars watch for centuries; if they could talk, imagine the stories they’d tell.  

An eagle soars above it all, dives, and ascends, a fish in its talons.

Here in the wilderness you make your home.

You do the basics: set up your tent, filter your water, gather your firewood, cook your meal.

It’s a return to the Wild Man in you, undistracted by the hubbub of the modern world.

The only news you need is what the sky and the wind tell you.

And, if you’re a fisherman, the luck the eagle’s having.