13th Lake: End of Day: Part 2

When the sun gets behind Little 13th Mountain, the water quiets. Shadows cast by the western slopes cross the lake towards the beach and the boat docks. A line appears drawn carefully in behind the canoes that are still out silently moving in different directions. I watch this from the beach and notice that the last swimmers are coming ashore. How long have they been in the water? Have they just swum the half mile expanse across the lake? Maybe they dropped into the water from the rock out-cropping directly across from the boat dock.

Something settles the lake at sunset. It is a palpable force which turns the yellow-blue day into a pink-grey dusk and the trees darken in response, except those on the east side, which decide to glow a little longer in a rosy, terminal light. The ducks move in formation seeking some safe harbor for the family. The V-shaped patterns in the water intersect and vanish after meeting.

It is now that our friends, the loons, who live mostly in the swampy protection of the south end of the lake, produce their heart-stopping calls. The songs echo along the shore line and I hold my breath. It is a sound as ancient as the mountains; one mate calling to another. They will be together a lifetime, it is said, and so the music and laughter of their conversation must be familiar to them. “It is my mate,” a she Loon might say. “He’s calling for me and our single baby and he’s letting us know that the last curious canoe has left and that it is safe now. We will be together soon.”

I cannot see their reunion. The darkness has dropped down on the lake and even the shore line has blended with the water. But I know the loons will move inexorably towards each other; he diving on quick fishing sorties; she steadily heading for his voice and home. The chick, by now, may have climbed aboard the mother’s back. It would then have nuzzled down under the luminous black and white comfort of her back feathers.

It is a safe time for all, this silent, summer evening. I feel it myself, more than at any time, and I know too, in this fading light, that the lake and the mountains and sky and loons are on the same journey as I am.