Hiawatha's Song

After a shower and a change of clothes, I head on down to the lake shore to catch the last glimmer of sun, and the rising of the moon.

Full tonight.

The sound of the waves lapping the Superior shore pebbles, smoothing them, shining them, until they sparkle like stars in the gloaming light, washes over me.

I walk down the beach where the water meets the shore. My feet are bare, feeling the curve of every pebble imprint itself into my flesh. The icy kiss of water. My skirt flits about my legs mid-calf. I wrap my sweater a mite tighter.

The orange ball of light on the horizon swiftly peeks over the inland sea. Its fiery reflection is distorted by the shining Big-Sea-Water as it tries to drink in her beauty, preparing to follow her wherever she may lead. The water is so willing to crash himself against the shore if it is the wish of the lunar sphere.

That’s some power.

My arms rise with the moon, my voice joins in song with the stars.

This is Hiawatha’s song.

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