The lake’s words are drowned vowels,
Ground from the bushes and brushes that line her bank.
I am still, a rock amongst the winds,
Craning to hear the words the water mouths.
A cushion of moss and mould rounds her voice,
Rolling around the mouth of the lake.
I wait, bound to the spell of the water,
Looking out beyond the headland,
Pen poised at my book.
All the nooks and crannies around fill with
The pipe and trill of little creatures,
And the leaves sigh and whisper in the eaves.
I urge them all to shush,
And lean into the wet, wild slope of mud and moulding weed,
Eager for secrets only the burly brown water could sound.
Danielle K Day
I went on a crazy long walk today with my puppies, around the lake in my hometown. I noticed a fantastic rounded sound, followed by a nice slapping suck, that almost felt like words coming up out of the weed and brush. the first time, I thought it might have been a creature, but after a few minutes it became clear that the water was just tricking me. Anyway, it had a special amount of assonance to it, so I wrote this little poem to capture that sense of poised wonder at it. 🙂