Monday, March 21, 2011

Deka Lake

They greet us at the door
with their good dog and warm
their grandson's wonder with a story 
of ospreys and eagles,
a moose on the road into town
They take it all in and remember
that it belongs to them

The sweet pine drift and that cool
sting in the nose, forest smells
and what the world sounds like when
everything has stopped, birds and the wind,
songs of the earth they haven't
heard since the last time

There is exploration where everything
is green and bursting, paintbrush
and columbine and lupine,
rein orchid by the burning barrel
and at dinner more stories,
gifts of the storyteller
and rhubarb pie from the one
who holds it all together

The lake is idle and the boat
is tied to the dock with easy knots,
fishing rods awaiting their glorious hands
but the fish don't know yet, rainbows
and lake trout and kokanee,
know nothing of a boy's eagerness
Still they look up to see how the loons
run down the lanes until their far-back feet
leave the tension of water

Hotdogs roasted on sticks at the firepit,
a sizzle and blister then buns and mustard,
nothing ever tasted so good with a view
that looks over the lake and eternity

In the end there is goodbye
and they turn in the window
to see them one last time with the lake
behind them, as solid as anything
they will ever know
I sound the horn at our special place
and they know it belongs to them

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