After a long drive, through the trees
I see again the sun on the lake,
white in the evening; I walk down
the sloping drive to the lake house.
The children run up the steep stairs
to the loft above the garage
to play with Grandmother’s dollhouse.
I run down the steps toward the lake,
wincing when my feet find small acorns
fallen from the oak tree. I sit
on the edge of the dock and pull
the water shoes onto my feet
so I can wade over the small, smooth stones
and watch out for zebra mussels,
gazing with wonder at the clear
water, marveling at the size
of the houses on the other side
of the lake, wondering who lives there.
When I wake in the morning,
I lean out the window to hear
the birdsong. I walk to the end
of the driveway, careful not to
scare the deer grazing in the woods.
Velella 