Summersville Lake

THE AWAKENING descends the tall, thin trees in front of me,

as the golden light first peeks then rises above the bowl we visit.

My fire, just a few shards of wood minutes ago, started with an ember, now

crackles with enthusiasm, its rising heat casting shadows on gravel and grass.

Nearby, a woodpecker rhythmically hunts, goldfinches play, and others sing

morning songs as the hot coffee I sip chases away the cobwebs in my head.

A group of hungry deer wander on to a ridge not far above,

and pay me no more mind than I do them.

Far down past the trees mist rises off the water of the lake,

man-made, its rock cliffs an example of ingenuity, and yet still Godly.

Mid-yesterday eight children joyously played and were pulled across its surface.

This Sunday morning everyone sleeps, my fire, my feathered friends,

and dripping dew the only assault on my ears.

I am not lonely, and I can’t help but smile.


© 2015



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