Call of the Loon

For me, the sound of a loon brings me back to mornings on a boat with my sons, fishing on a lake as smooth as glass. Mist hovered only a few feet above the water as the sun began to rise. In that stillness, every sound seemed magnified, and the loons’ voices carried as though their song might echo forever.

On our way, we would sometimes come upon a pair. One would dive beneath the surface and disappear, then rise again somewhere unexpected, breaking the perfect water into widening rings. As we passed, we would hear their call—eerie and soul-searching, almost a warning that change is inevitable and this moment is sacred.

It is a sound that belongs to the lake. But for me, it will always belong to those mornings with my sons.