Cottage Country

Crisp air

Sharp with turpentine and pitch

Pulling on ragged jeans,

The sweat shirt still rich

With last night’s wood smoke

Shuddering feet plunging into cold boots.

Breath cloud shapes

Early morning air boiling

Raising roses on cheeks

The teeth of autumn

Biting the ragged hem of summer’s skirts

A moment on the borders of things.

Feet crunch brittle needle carpet

Down to the shoreline

Pale blue sky

Lapping pebbles with soft sighs

Lapis and gold threading

A path across still waters to the sun.

Grind of keel

Metallic tang ringing bright

Sliding silent down into glass

Paddle dip carving tiny whirlpool teacups

Blade dripping rainbow pearls

Gleaming arcs prison new sunbeams.

Hard, slow strokes

Pleasant burn warming muscles

Clench, push, pull

Good clean sweat chilling brow

Face to the north wind

Generations of hands in the handle’s grain.

Trees tear jagged green

As above, so below

Forest skyline mirrored in the depths

Trunks rippling prow cleaved

Slipping swift through cloudless water

Silence punctuated suddenly

By a loon’s mournful cry.


3 Responses to “Cottage Country”

  1. smoke curling skyward Says:


  2. Yes. You remember well. Time to be revisited.

  3. eager witness Says:

    bone chilling cold under a cloudless sky
    early March

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