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In the Cove

It was so still

in the cove

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at dusk

we could hear the insects hum

over the bog.

The water was painted

with the perfect reflections

of the reeds and trees,

thin strokes

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and deep, blunt strokes

on the motionless water.

We drifted

near the lodge,

and then we saw

a little way off

the beaver's head

pushing a small wave

at the tip

of a V,

and very soon,

though we made no sound,

as if he could feel

our looking,

he dove,

the sudden whap and splash

of his tail gave

a little shock of pleasure

at his alertness,

and then another pleasure

at the thought of him


in his own realm,

and his dark safety.

He was gone, invisible;

we glided, not talking,

not dipping a paddle;

and it was so still

we could hear

the insects hum

above the bog

in the beaver's cove

at dusk.

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