At the Mouth of the Bear River, a poem, 99/365

St. Francis Solanus Indian Mission Church, established 1859

At the Mouth of the Bear River


Where the light shines through the clouds
Is a sacred burial site, now fully restored;
The final destination for a few of Chief Petosega’s native tribe.
Legacy now honored, historic interest attained.


Symbolic crosses gleaming white, proudly stand, listening 
Prayer-like as the gentle waves beat an age old rhythm
of worship to the designer of all mankind.  Heritage and 
Language at first denied, now a battle underway to preserve.


Oh Ottawa spirit, ringing out majestically,
Overlooking the shores of Little Traverse Bay,
Is it possible to see memories reflected through the windowpane?
Can a seeker gaze through and see shadow spirits lingering?


Were many a head bent in prayer, before the snowshoe priest?
Was your soul uplifted reading holy words from the white man’s book?
Or, when the bell tower majestically rang did your spirit rejoice,
Revived and refreshed, due to the rays of the morning dawn?


At the mouth of the Bear River, perhaps “The Little Church by the Lake"
Embraced both the heritage of the red man and the white man’s faith.
Like the Petoskey stone washed clean and smooth, your spirit too, but by 
Grace and the circle of the rising sun which still warms this land of renewal.


by Margaret Bednar


This is my submission for A Bowl of Random Words.  This weeks five words are: destination, windowpane, seeker, reading, circle.  I also entered this in One Shot Poetry Wednesday.


The above mission resides in the small Northern Michigan town of Petoskey.  It is
nestled along the Little Traverse Bay shore and a wonderful bike path.  I often
paused here and wondered about this place and was very happy when it was
renovated.  Limited tours during the summer are offered.  I am also posting this
as my 99th of my 365 Photographic Journey.  This was taken this past
summer... I'm cheating a bit, but I'm busy bringing my daughter home from the
hospital after her appendectomy.  

"Piglets", a poem

The following poem is for “A Bowl of Random Words”.  Week 17 words are: Wave, Amazement, Spring, Spirit, Faith ... (I did add an "s" to spirit)  This is also my photographic entry for the Sunday Creative - challenge word: Flourish(ing).

Piglets

A gentle wave upon the straw

Pink little bodies, undulating

Falling, rippling, squeals rising in pitch

Amazement radiates as quivering snouts

Explore the spring time at Pond Hill Farm

The warm shore, their mother’s belly

They snuggle, protected, like round beach balls

Spirits flourishing, tummies content

Faith-filled that life will forever be a safe harbor


by Margaret Bednar

These little piglets were so hard to capture in focus as they were very, very active.  They ran around in a group, one would fall and they all would tumble in a heap as these fellows (I was told) were fairly newborn and legs were wobbly.  My children wanted to take them home.

They had to settle for return visits.