Magician Lake

The smell of the shed, like gasoline, fresh cut grass, frozen fish and must.  The constant but gentle buzz of the bugs in the trees, like a cloud of soft sound.  Patches of grass under bare feet, stepping stones in the rough gravel drive.  Lying on the back of the pontoon boat and being put to sleep by the gentle bobbing as waves make their way to shore.  The glow of the late afternoon sun, the way it feels on my skin and the way it glitters and glints off the water in a dance, with a little laugh.  The white Polk house--my house in all my dreams.  With it's picture window overlooking the lake, it's rough wood and the weeping willow out front.

Magician Lake, my love, who I am, taking up such a large part of my soul.  A month ago, I was there, enjoying your smells, your sounds, your sights and I wish I still was.  I'll dream of you tonight.