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Category: Writing and Poetry

the lake behind my house

There is a path that leads to the lake

It resides just near my house.

As a kid I’d follow the path mindlessly,

Wandering to the edge of the clear water.

The tadpoles swam around,

Water reeds swaying in the wind,

And the sun danced across the sky.

I’d pick up the stones

They were warm to the touch

And soft on my small hands,

I named each and every one of them

And told those names to no one.

This morning I walked that path once more

My legs taking me to that edge again.

The frogs were tired and silent,

Water reeds drooping sadly,

Sun laying low above the horizon.

I picked up the stones as I did all those years ago,

And found a weight had lifted off my shoulders.

They heated my palms as they had before.

Soft on my calloused hands,

They called their names out back to me.

There is a path that leads to the lake

It resides just near my house.

And when I visit it again today,

I will remember the fun I had as a child.

When I get to that water’s edge

I'll watch the frogs swim around,

Water reeds swinging in the breeze,

The sun rising over the horizon again.

As I skip the warm stones across the water’s edge

I’m reminded I am still what I once was

Our experiences intertwined

As are the reeds.

As I walk back home my hands are held

By the child I thought I had lost to the lake

Only to find they had never left in the first place.

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