In the dim dusky light, their huge white bodies glide gracefully
across the mirrorglass surface of the lake—
one adult in front and one in back,
with three adolescents in a row between them,
gray and barely visible,
the sun having just dipped below the horizon,
its afterglow still giving us enough light to make out their shapes.
The five of us stand on the rocky shore, an inverse—
three adults and two small children—
watching quietly.
Eventually the swans swim out of sight,
making their way to shore several yards from our campsite.
The spell we’ve been under
breaks.
We resume the busy work of putting a camp to bed—
tucking children into sleeping bags,
washing dinner dishes,
hoisting our food in its bear bag up into a tree.
Making ourselves snug,
guests in this wilderness home.
