A long wait—almost 50 years—to learn How deeply and completely The wild magic of the Boundary Waters Could burrow. A self-identified mountain girl Lost to still, flat black water Contained by granite outcroppings Layered in midnight green pines Topped with iridescent spring birches. In a place of pure stillness. A quiet a city dweller doesn’t know And a peak bagger doesn’t experience. Savoring the indelible memory of The night’s all-consuming darkness Its lavish gift of stars, The raucous cacophony of loons. The fog and the suns One in the sky Another in the glassy flat water. Silent contentment, Gratitude, Wild hope. | 
