Oh, how I treasure this life, our lakes, and the written word. Even when I'm never here, I'm always here.
A freighter drifts out of the mist.
We watch it crawl along the horizon.
Two girls braid their hair in the shallows
and a woman in a red bathing suit
and pink bandanna looks for something pretty.
A twin engine plane putts overhead
following the shoreline, putt, gasp! putt.
Buoys that mark the safe swimming boundary
bounce as a speed boat skims by.
Sail boats peak the horizon, bothering nobody,
seemingly not moving, but when you look back, they are gone,
swallowed by a lake that makes pretty things.
One ale later, we have to turn our heads to see the freighter
chugging for the straits with determination
and the woman is on her knees, looking for something pretty.