Stonecoal Lake

A comforting gurgle sounds

As wavelets hit Loon's hard chine.

Her sails gently fill as we cast off the dock.

Crows argue, busy among meadow asters.

Bill, at the tiller, sings to sky, hills, crows.

I hunker forward of the mast,

Feel the centerboard thrum, join in his song.

At Deer Cove we nudge Loon ashore on the slate ledge.

A surprised snake esses herself inland as

Bill smooths our yellow quilt onto spikey weeds.

I open hot coffee and sandwiches.

The September sun warms us as it did the snake.

We strip to swimsuits,

Gasp into the cold, deep lake,

Searching for warm spots.

We laugh, say

Won't we forever remember

This last Saturday in September.

from: No Name Harbor, Poetry of Barbary Chaapel

http://barbrychaapel.eveusa.com