This poem takes place at Glen Lake, Michigan. I spent the first 30 summers of my life in Glen Arbor, a quaint town in Leelanau County, Michigan. The Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes are just a few miles away, as is Lake Michigan. There are so many memories here, most of which include family and fun. Waterskiing, beach parties, tennis, hiking, canoeing down The Crystal River were all part of my Glen Lake experience. Our cabin is no longer part of our family, but the memories remain.
This poem is about the joy of Glen Lake and the special place it holds in my heart.
|A typical view from a dock at Glen Lake|
I walk outside to the smell of morning,
Summer air floating beneath the tent of green.
A taste of pine, carried by the smooth breeze,
Touches the tip of my tongue.
The water, cool and clear, licks
The narrow grass-covered shore,
With the same sound of soft waves
That sent me to sleep the night before.
The wooden path under my feet leads me
Out to the water deep.
Up early, a child splashes and swims
By the dock. I sit on wooden planks,
The distant hum of a motorboat
Drifts to my ears as it glides
Across the golden horizon.
Too far away to see the line
That pulls the skier
behind it, as she moves back and forth
Of the white froth in front of her.
The wooden boards bounce under me.
The steps increase with intensity as they near.
I'm fearful - certain - of what it means.
I concentrate on the beauty of a
Glen Lake Morning.
I feel a hand on my shoulder. "It's time."
I start my reluctant retreat
back to the cabin, as the skier in the distance
Falls and skips across the blue.