As the perfect hostess
She lays a silken path beneath us
Smoothing all ripples
Encouraging our journey
…but don’t trust her…
She will soon forget her courtesy
And like the capricious entity she is
Will rage, upsetting and contrary
Flicking negligent shrugs
To swamp and shudder the weary mariner
…Michigan is a flighty lake…
The leaves shimmer with silver
Lighter, more ethereal than before
This is another reality
One where humanity blends rather than dominates
The air hints of fragrances
Less poignant than honeysuckle and rose
Even the flowers understand
That subtlety is needed
The leafy perfume
Whispered and verdant
Hangs over the water
Brimming with life and potential
…the hidden Canada…
A map does not exist for life
But those who are fortunate
Find a compass
Be honorable
Be kind
Be respectful
Be generous of spirit
My moral compass
Sits reading the newspaper
In a small town in New Jersey
Unaware of the impact
His perspective
His teaching
His life
Has had on my life
…thank you Dad…
With each barb thrown
She grew stronger
Her gentle façade
Camouflaged a core of steel
That was tempered
With life’s hurts and heartaches
As they slashed and poked
She bent and folded
Standing her ground without seeming to
Springing back to form as they turned away
Unaware of her endurance
Through Life’s onslaught
Her bubblegum laugh would sing out
Not loud or brassy
But consistent and true
For she was one of those rare few
Designed not to conquer or be conquered
Rather she brightened and buoyed
Refreshing all those lucky enough
To be touched by her
— Gail, you will be so very missed —
At first glance
She seems fragile
Her rippled shadow
Insubstantial as a windblown reed or dragonfly’s wing
But look deeper…
Do not imagine that strength is bound in muscle or bone
It is her Spirit that stands tall against the world
She points at obstacles
With a pink, gauze-wrapped finger
Declaring her prerogative, her will
Tenacious and inevitable
Walls will crumble
I face the world
With no hesitation, no fear
Vanilla eyes follow my path
Fingers stealthily pointing
Brows raised
Not in envy
But in disbelief
At my audaciousness
Boundaries beware
For I intend to skip right over you
The Path requires forward motion
So we forge on
At times, hands clutching hands
At others, fingers simply touching
Inevitably, the Path splits
The left route pulling him
The right calling to me
If he tugs harder
And I go left with him
Is it no longer my Path; simply his?
If I tug harder
Causing him to veer with me
Will he yearn for the Path not taken?
If we diverge
Going our separate ways
There will be no more ‘us’
…only him and her
If we compromise
Creating a center Path
Do we essentially please neither?
And with that compromise
Do we grow, or are we diminished?
Is the goal
To walk the Path
With his hand in mine
Or is to arrive at the destination?
I will not ‘follow’ the Path
For it is not a map or blueprint designed to guide
Rather it is a chronicle of choices
That can be viewed
Only when looking back
Age changes love
I know that infinite possibilities
No longer await – if they ever really did
For my time with you is finite
And ever shortening
The fire and passion that defined my love
Is now more lukewarm and comforting
It has morphed into soft down
That enfolds, always touching
I now understand
Love is shortlived
For life is shortlived
And much more precious because of it
The frogs are singing their scratchy song
Full of clicks and bellows
A lovely counterpoint to the quiet ‘thum, thum, thum’ of the engine
Her hull cleanly slicing through the reflections
Breaking the glassy surface
Leaving behind a trail of swells and bubbles
That dissipates almost as soon as it’s created
Today, the river is a kind and courteous host
I wish to share
That which makes me sigh
As I marvel
At the beauty
Hidden in moments
What Do Ya' Reckon? 