Lichen Potions

      The Lake and the Lichens tell the same story again and again, yet those of us who listen hear it differently every time. Yesterday I heard the story on the Beaver River, finding my way down slightly treacherous waterfalls and following otter tracks until the ice felt too thin to follow. 
                                                                

Wavy mother tree of the sands
Timeless song of grains like winding whisperous winds
The Lake is my potion, my elixir 
Of intense life and shadowed awakening.
Lichens grow at a micron a year.
And the sands whisper stories so rapidly,
About the wine drops and porcelain branches-
How many stories have the lichens heard?