A Place of Serenity

A waning sun on a hot summer day, the end of a lovely weekend sojourn to the Cove found them in the water. The air had been torrid and the contrast of the cool water awakened their senses, bringing a sense of peace to their departure. In its beauty the water appeared as clear as glass, serene, showing only a trace of the world beneath the surface, a separate place where the loons could hastily retreat.
They swam with the loon for a time equal to eternity, suspended in awe of his majestic beauty and grace. His sleek neck and body were alert to their every breathless motion, every scent and sound of the humans nearby. He glided silently and smoothly,his red eyes sparkled in jest. But his stoic regard of them was obvious, as if in judgment, as he circled. They were speechless when a certain serenity enveloped them. Life had stopped in this moment.

He disappeared as mysteriously and suddenly as he had appeared, without so much as a ripple of evidence. Straining their eyes they could see the white neck against the stark black of his feathers, treading water yards away in the open water searching for another space, unoccupied I would imagine. Later, as the distant night approached, screeching was heard, surpassed anything uttered by man. A severe warning was issued not to disturb his sacred territory.
I think I was very young when I had my first such experience. I remember the excitement as we arrived at the Cove, striving in earnest for a glimpse of the lake. Through the forest of trees I saw the sparkling water and my excitement became evident. I raced to the water's edge and danced with joy! I could not contain the reverberating feeling of delight as I entered the cold lake, a contrast to the heat on arrival. The resounding call of the waves as they broke against the rocks, the song of the seagull and the beauty of the blue heron on the rocks, became a symphony. Serenity at last!
The piercing shrill call of the loons in the quiet of the night, and the reflection of the moon over the water became mystical. Moments like this occurred often in that special place, as if there was a mystical and sacred presence. Often at night or in the early morning there would be a mist dancing around the Cove, a veil to covet this private space. The birds would quietly bid their adieus to the night as the bullfrogs hoarsely reminded us of their presence.
They would return in later years ti find the serenity of the Cove, offering comfort and joy. The years had not changed the ambiance from which they would derive strength within their souls.

Learn more about this author, Jane Winslow.
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