We come to the lake and talk to the water
with stones we skim across her glassy surface,
As we dangle bare feet from the edge of the dock
our eyes scan her familiar coves,
looking for evidence
of our younger
selves.
We come to the lake and talk to the water
with toes plunged deep into cold pockets,
with laughter that skips over her silvery ripples.
Like sea sponges, our hearts
gather new memories,
hold them inside.
Always.
In the trees, a mourning dove calls.
Up the hill, a screen door slaps shut.
Across the way, a fisherman trolls.
Doves and doors and boat motors—
they talk to the water, too.
And she listens.
Soon, too soon,
we leave the lake and say goodbye to the water
waving farewell
as we drive over her bridge,
once more,
this time not to buy
charcoal
or hot dog buns
or Miller Lite.
This time,
we drive west toward home,
to enthusiastic schnauzers,
garden beds that need tending,
the backside of summer.
And the lake?
In her omniscient way, she knows.
She knows when we come and go,
and she senses how much she means to us.
We swallow lumps in our throats
as she sends us a final, glittery
goodbye wave.
Until next time, she says.
Until next time.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
Absolutely beautiful words and so true.
Thank you Cathy!
Once again, the perfect visual!!
Reminds me of my/our visits to the river.
Wonderful memories!❤️
Thank you!
The quiet slap of the paddle as the canoe slips off the bank. A dock, abandoned by time an place peaks out from the underbrush. The splash of a bass catching dinner. The sun hanging low on the far treeline.
It is always in my mind.
Yes! Thanks for continuing my story. Sounds like we go to the same lake:)
Tears rollin…so beautiful. Precious memories…how they linger! Blue moon……
Blue moon indeed!
I love your beautiful poem! I see, hear and feel what you feel when you’re there and as you head back to every day living. Well done!
Thank you, friend!