Walking down to the lake in my shorts
the sun is just starting to rise,
the mist settles close to the water.
Dew covers the grass
making it slippery,
carefully I make my way down to the lake.
Oaks, maples, poplar surround the bay
hugging the shore,
rising like a wall of green, shimmering.
It's a temple.
The wooden dock extends straight into
the little bay.
Each slat is weathered, gray, worn
from years of use.
The crickets and frogs hush as I
approach the dock.
The mist is beginning to lift to reveal
the lilypads with pale lavender flowers
stretching across the bay.
The dew has burned off the dock,
the wood is absorbing the
heat from the sun.
Sitting on the dock I feel the warmth on
the back of my legs as I extend them.
I enjoy the morning show
watching it unfold,
a white egret stalks her prey
intent, still as a statue
then suddenly snatches breakfast,
an unsuspecting fish.
Ducks paddle slowly beyond the lilypads,
lazily it's morning, no rush.
The crickets and frogs resume
their song by the bay.
Mesmerized by the beauty surrounding
me I begin to imagine
myself stepping lightly on the lilypads,
making no indentation as I walk from
one to the other,
slowly dancing, finding my footing.
I spin from one to another
an elaborate hopscotch,
the mist still hovers closely.
Softening the scenery making it magical.
A fish jumps,
breaking my reverie.