Water like glass in the bay.
The morning sun glancing off the burning fog.
Black flies taking their time, buzzing the early risers.
Me, looking up from the ink to capture a moment.
Fisher people mosey across the grass,
To their dew stained boats.
Cursing motors that won't turn.
And bait left a mess by the littles.
And lines twisted like bowls of spaghetti.
With a shot, boats race off.
Disappearing for hours.
Finding the elusive,
The one that got away.
The bay quiet, returned to glass.
Families in cabins playing games.
Splashing in pools.
Jumping on floaties.
Laying on a towel.
Reading through the stack of novels,
That never diminishes.
Sipping an afternoon cocktail of relaxation.
In a hammock between two trees,
While the rest of the world goes by.
A potluck dinner,
Dished up in the Lodge.
Everyone coming together.
Charred brats and potatoes 8 ways.
Laughter, drama, new friendships, and life-long bonds,
Cemented every year with overstuffed plates and bellies.
The sun bows behind the cabins,
Black flies give way to mosquitoes,
Friends find chairs,
With beverages,
Along the shore.
Lightning rolls across the stillness.
Laughter spills from cabin windows.
The moon closes another adventure,
Fills the promise of more to come.
-July 4, 2021
