In the Cove

It was so still

in the cove

at dusk

we could hear the insects hum

over the bog.

The water was painted

with the perfect reflections

of the reeds and trees,

thin strokes

and deep, blunt strokes

on the motionless water.

We drifted

near the lodge,

and then we saw

a little way off

the beaver's head

pushing a small wave

at the tip

of a V,

and very soon,

though we made no sound,

as if he could feel

our looking,

he dove,

the sudden whap and splash

of his tail gave

a little shock of pleasure

at his alertness,

and then another pleasure

at the thought of him


in his own realm,

and his dark safety.

He was gone, invisible;

we glided, not talking,

not dipping a paddle;

and it was so still

we could hear

the insects hum

above the bog

in the beaver's cove

at dusk.

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