In Late May Poem by Raymond Farrell

In late May
When the apple trees
In the orchard
Were in full bloom
And the wildflowers
In the meadow
Were putting Solomon's glory
To shame
In the early morning
Just before daybreak
I would launch my canoe
And paddle up Otter creek
The creek was high
From the spring runoff
And meandered at times
Beyond its banks
Forming small tributaries
That followed the topography
That would all go dry
In the heat of summer
For years
One lone bull moose
Came to drink
Near the first beaver damn
We grew to know one another
And in time
He would continue to drink
Without alarm
As I silently glided past
I admired his mighty rack
He was surely
The King of the forest
Years past
And one late August
As I was trekking the Maple Ridge
I saw him hobbling
Slowly
In a nearby
Field of clover
I stood and watched him
Make his way
With effort
Towards the distant glen
I climbed the fence
And entered the field
To let him know
I was there
He paused
Turned his head towards me
And for a few brief moments
We stared
At each other
Knowingly
Then with a slight nod
Of his head
As though
To finally say goodbye
He was off
Never to be seen
By me
Again.