...of my summer blog. So let's make it special. Yesterday, we wrote poems about our favorite places. Here's mine. I'm still playing around with the line breaks but I'm pretty happy with it now:
A blanket of white,
Broken by round mounds,
dark motionless pools,
and cascades of ice.
Landmarks are obscured.
Familiar features vanished,
and yet it feels like home.
Spring brings raging torrents;
a child's delight.
Waterfalls and rapids abound.
Knee-high boots plunge into icy depths
While logs from an old, nearby woodpile,
are carefully guided into the swollen pond below.
As the waters recede,
islands appear.
Some claimed as territory
others used as a means of safe passage.
Six-inch high waterfalls are named:
Twin Towers, Little Niagara.
The frogs return.
In the summer, it is no more than a trickle.
Garnet pools studded with striders.
Beaches appear,
incongruous with the forest around.
Now is the time to build dams
using rocks no bigger than fists.
Autumn rains replenish the pools
that are now speckled with crimson and gold.
The acrid smell of woodsmoke
reminds you that winter
is only a month away.
Time for one more dam
one more frog
one more log
before the stream is once again locked away.
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