No clouds, waves or wind
Only the voices of birds and insects
The shore line was littered with stones,
Pollen, and other debris
Seagulls were floating overhead
Looking for an easy meal
And on the lookout for predators
Looking at them for an easy meal
The lake was smooth
Almost like an ice-skating rink
You could almost imagine the
Sounds of happy skaters, but we were
Only nearing the end of summer
We could not possibly imagine what
Was before us in the coming seasons
We would have our color tour as
Jack Frost, the magnificent artist, would
Paint the leaves of the deciduous trees
A palette of color, unimaginable
Beauty which will diminish our best efforts
Then winter will have its say
We can only hope that the clippers
Will be mild and endurable
For now I remember seeing a man swimming
A little less than a mile in each direction
He was a teacher, a professor, and this
Would be his last swim and he looked good
By early spring he had gone to his reward
Cancer, a quick acting form, had taken him
Our mortality supersedes the weather and I am
Curious about what happens when we are gone
And then the wondering if we succeeded in life
Also, will our accomplishments be remembered?
Most have no idea of all that has been done
Because it was done quietly, silently and by choice
Life like the seasons will go on
There will be low tides and high tides
Sometimes we think we are essential but
The grave yards are full of indispensable people
We should be aware of this fact
Life is a precious gift; it has one season
Live it well
Stanski
September 24, 2023, ^
Steve Haarman 