Each night at dusk
Thirteen loons would meet
Just as the sun would set

The purple, the pinks
Orange and blues
In a late September sky

Light floating on the waves
The glitter, the shine
Transcend into each other’s form

And the thirteen loons
A holy ritual would come
To met each other again

One from here
One from there
From wherever they spent the day

A magical moment
Hear them call out
To each other by name

Forming “V’” wakes 
On the evening sea
They’re dancing away from me

A family comes together
Glides across the sea
To Harstine Island, to call it a day