This lake, she is so pretty.
I paddle out to her center
knowing that she is deep,
born of the glaciers,
springing forth from a time when all was ice.
But, with this dear lake, there is nothing to fear.
The years have warmed her
and made her gentle,
She is quite small, a fact I didn’t realize
until I found my way to her heart.
I look around and there is nowhere to go
(I thought there would be places to go
I can paddle out straight in front of me
to the old amusement park.
Or I can veer left and visit Elsa
the charming elderly lady who lives in that cottage with her jaunty puppy.
Or I can head right
into the cove
which is lined with the homes of soft-bellied financial analysts
whose dreams reside in the past
when they were once stars
on athletic teams
from high schools
with lakes quite similar to this one.
Or I can dream of the ocean
whose waves rant and taunt and beckon
and where all I can see
is the horizon.