Hour by hour, the lake’s music softens
and slows. The songbirds have gone,
taking their whistles and chirps
to warmer climes, and with them,
the buzzing insects. Now, little more
than the rustling of leaves remains,
an autumn lullaby floating across
the still waters, whispering
the season’s Gloria in hushed
and reverent tones. I stand
on the banks, barely breathing,
and my heart sings its own amen.