Lake Superior, a poem

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The lake’s large waves lapped

in with the wind

and kissed my feet.

A seagull sat,

hunched on a large rock,

hiding from the wind.

I stepped carefully along the beach

of smooth stones and driftwood,

inhaled the damp, fresh air

and looked out to the horizon

barely able to tell the sky

from the shoreline.

There was something so final about it,

and something so exciting.

Infinite possibilities

and unfortunate dead ends.

The beginning

and ending of something

at the same time.

Ode to a Spring Day

The clouds are low

and dark

and they blanket the sky

like a wrinkled quilt

of white and grey,

but it doesn’t rain

not even a tell-tale drop.

The heavy clouds

hold the drops

on the tips of their tongues

like a secret.

And below them,

the trees,

greener than I have ever seen,

dance in the wind

bending and swaying

perfectly in time

to music only they can hear.

The wild flowers bloom

on the sides of the roads,

showing off their brightest colours,

daring people to stop

and pick them.

I may not be in love

with where I’m at,

but I’m sure in love

with all the life

that surrounds me.

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So many things are happening.

Not entirely bad, not entirely great.

Sometimes all at once, sometimes not enough.

Mostly uncertainty, with a few rare spots of clarity.

Equal parts anxious and excited.

Well, maybe it’s more of an 80-40 situation.

I have moments of silence,

And staccato bursts of happiness,

And weeks when I feel like I don’t even have time to breathe.

But there is always the steady course of nature.

The change of the seasons

And the movement of the sun

And the solid earth under my feet.

The leaves of the trees will still grow green

And then burn orange and red in the Autumn.

The flowers will still bloom

And their blossoms will fall.

No matter what happens.

And even the wind seems to whisper

“All will be well.”

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