SUBMITTED BY BILL HAMILTON.
WRITER'S CIRCLE

A far-reaching bay churning waters of its discontent.

A rugged coastline and islands soothe this liquid torrent.

The Canadian Shield stretched, like skin with scattered pools,

Keeping each independent, following Nature’s rules.

A tree grows through that solid granite embedded can this be?

No soil appears amidst the rock yet it’s full of greenery.

Rolling rock with sporadic puddles, evidence of a recent storm.

Sunburst sparkles at my feet ignite another morn.

Ah, island life, can there be anything that gives release?

From city life, the tension and worries that never cease?

To simplicity, a cabin, no power at our beck and call,

Somehow we make it work, with what surrounds us all.

Solar power helps us we‘ve brought food and water to feed.

A privy down the sheltered path answers our other need.

A bit unnerving, watch for snakes they share this land as well,

It somehow insists we get along in our captive island cell.

I toss my line into shallow depths as the weeds flow to and fro,

Eventually I feel a tug, was that a bite from the world below?

I quickly reel what I hope’s a catch but alas I lift my line,

There at the end is a twisted mass of slimy weeds and vines.

Morning suns are brighter as evening stars saturate the sky,

Air breathes clean and skin tans, as I swat a pestering fly.

I lay there watching the blue on high, as a vulture soars above,

As my hand drops to the cooling flow, this is the land I love.

My wish is that these islands and shores unchanged will remain intact,

Preserving that which we long for, to enjoy in our silent pact.

Hoping that what was, is and will always be,

The utopia, I hope eventually, everyone will see.

Author’s note:  Recently we visited a friend’s cottage on one of the thirty thousand islands of Georgian Bay.  I tried to capture some of the experiences we had there.