reality hits:
school supply shopping, grading.
at least there’s a pool.
a Wilder stop
along a siloed, green drive
home to sunflowers
one last lake sunrise
switched for a city tour
architecture, parks
the storm has arrived
enough to bring shrieking youth
joy none of us find
yet the lake beckons
with its endless, silent joy
should we ask for more?
or live like ancients
who treasured every birchbark
for the life it gave?
an Ely day trip
for a family pic, hike
a little shopping
red sun, glassy lake
paddling with the puppy:
perfect lakehouse day
Dear Minnesota,
How do you tease with lakes buried under ice for seven months that are swimmable by July?
How my Colorado blood envies your lack of altitude.
How windy you made this lake for three days until the dusk presented a photo-less calm that brought all eleven of us onto the water.
Even Ruby, just six, paddled to the bald eagle island halfway across the bay.
Even my mother, just sixty-five, tolerated the nearly-still lake.
You should have seen it with your non-existent books, your lack of information published online, your secret beauty buried beneath ponderosa pines and fish-hunting loons.
You should have told me that peat bogs and mosquitos mask the firelit perfection of summer.
That the North Woods encapsulate the fairy tale life we’ve all wished to achieve.
I should have known, Minnesota, that you were too good to be true.
a sketchy bike ride
paddling against the wind
into the north sun
morning adventures:
the kayaks’ gentle lilting
through freshwater lake
a tornado scare
led to this downtown hassle
with a sparkling Vista
delayed flight gave time
for a capitol your
offering domed wealth
my man has arrived
for our drive to the North Woods
where water saves all
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