I have been thinking about sunsets
red, gold and yawning orange
hues of violet smeared across the sky,
echoed onto the dancing waters then
wrinkled waves wash out the color till faded
to a dark blue.

A sleek black head breaks the surface
soft drops run down his dappled feathers.
His webbed feet churn water
king of the lake he calls
lonely and the lake replies with rolling ripples,
serenity.

Still, I think about the sunrise.
Hope. That when the world fades black and the water is
dark, there are still the crinkled diamonds mirrored on the surface,
the crescent a pale shimmer
persistent daylight behind the mountains
The loon paddles on.

At pink daybreak, fog greets the water’s edge
bright blue returns, her sunny glow
casts blissful rays over the lapping lake
shimmering waters stretch to the horizon
speckled with dazzling sunshine.
The steady loon remains.

Many others have gazed too
Galileo, Van Gogh,
and seen the same stars
and the same sun in the same sky
they have asked the same question
why?

I think I will always watch the sunset
vanish lazily behind the lofty peaks
shed its orange tinge on the soft lake
dissolve peacefully into the dim of night
and give way to the freckled stars
the loon sings to.