The Sentinel is no more.
For time longer than mine
staring down the lake’s long arm,
it stood guarding the entrance
to a peaceful, untouched bay.
Where loons, herons, beavers, and more,
swam among the lilies
and between the rocks
over the skeletons
of long fallen cedars.
Where tiny minnows schooled
and proud trout leapt
to swallow midges dancing
above the mirrored surface.
And each time I entered the bay,
swimming, canoeing,
alone, with friends,
I nodded to that quiet guard,
acknowledging service given,
never tiring, albeit futile.
But this spring
the Sentinal was gone
one storm too many,
the freeze and thaw too much
for those craggy, twisted roots
And now my old friend,
that silent survivor,
too rested below the surface
sheltered by those waters
it had so long served
leaving me to hold its memory,
quiet tears mingling in the bay.
Everything, nothing changed.