A Fresh Water Home

there is a cottage on that lakeside where I swam so long ago

there came the smell of life from deep down within that lake

I had a glimpse of paradise where the bluegills lived among the pickerel weeds

I saw the sun from beneath the cool green water, with my cousins

I heard as wavelets lapped for a while when the breeze had stopped

I listened to the frogs all croaking where they were safe and wet

they said the lake was very deep and the water very good

they said fossil sand dunes still filtered the long rains of autumn

there is a dirt road down by the lake that is soft upon bare feet

there are large beech trees at the lakefront where the old folks sit

I felt the wind change late in August as the leaves began to show their bottoms

I felt at ease while swimming in that lake all those fish called home

I saw the starlight shimmer on the surface of the darkened water

I saw the joy upon the faces of the little kids as they splashed and played

I heard the fish as they were jumping and I saw the rings that spread

I heard the oar locks squeaking and the water dripping from their blades

I heard the water passing by as I swam beneath the surface

I heard the gentle tinkle when my head broke through the water

I knew that things made a wonderful and complex but, common sense

I knew the summer was nearly over when our lips began turning blue

I felt the lake touch me from the dock when there was no breeze

I felt the bluegill tugging when the hook caught in his mouth

there was a time on summer evenings when the lightning bugs emerged

there was a breeze that brought the sound of wavelets to a bunkbed

I was a boy who dreamed of fishing and swimming every day

I was a boy who played ditch'em in the hardwood hills behind the cottage

I felt the cool stone floor of the cottage on those rainy summer days

I felt the warmth of the fireplace my uncle had built in the swirling mist

I heard the tinkle of the raindrops from underwater when it was quite still

I heard the explosion of air in the water when I leapt from the dock

there is a road that is still not paved, and it stretches back to those days

there is a wondrous happiness in simply knowing that we were there

I saw the babies in their cribs and the calm old ones sitting quietly together

I saw light rays wiggle greenishly and geometrically down into that good water

I knew the lake would, of course, be preserved just as the trees would be left to grow

I knew the world was made to last for at least a million years

I touched the spongy moss and knew that it was good

I touched the surface of the lake and it clung to my finger

there is a twilight full of peace and the presence of the lake

there is that group of quiet children before the modern age

I helped put in the dock and float the raft in good time for memorial day

I helped dig the worms, bail the boat then caught and cleaned the fish

I saw the painted turtles with orange stripes on their faces

I heard the stories of all the people who were a part of that family

I was a man who once, thank god, came back to swim in that lake again

I was a man who was finally able to realize how lucky he had always been