September. And I want the summer back.
a dinghy: blue & white. Once loved, once contentedly tied to its place on the shore. Cast out & drifting alone on a lake. A still lake. Mirroring darkness, light, sky and trees & stars at night (probably), or perhaps the stars live deep in the lake and the sky reflects the stars. It doesn't matter.
A lake where loons call, dragon flies--iridescent blue--dart across the water. A lake where we kayaked out to the loons. They called and lifted their wings. We stopped, drifting, holding each other's paddles. Talked. And it was easy. The loons dove deep and long, resurfacing in unpredictable places.
The dinghy blue and white, paint just a little scratched, its cut rope shredding, fingers spreading across the lake's surface.
A dinghy: shot full of holes.
a dinghy: blue & white. Once loved, once contentedly tied to its place on the shore. Cast out & drifting alone on a lake. A still lake. Mirroring darkness, light, sky and trees & stars at night (probably), or perhaps the stars live deep in the lake and the sky reflects the stars. It doesn't matter.
A lake where loons call, dragon flies--iridescent blue--dart across the water. A lake where we kayaked out to the loons. They called and lifted their wings. We stopped, drifting, holding each other's paddles. Talked. And it was easy. The loons dove deep and long, resurfacing in unpredictable places.
The dinghy blue and white, paint just a little scratched, its cut rope shredding, fingers spreading across the lake's surface.
A dinghy: shot full of holes.
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