Vacation Poems: 3/3
 
Nature, Vacation

Almost Solitude

© Alan Titley

This poem slowly unfolded while vacationing on the Bruce Peninsula in Ontario. I am the Production Manager for a very busy little Theatre in St. Catharines, Ontario. This was the first time that I could finally relax in over a year. Thank God for solitude.

Fragrant curls rise from my coffee
Imitating the lake shrouded in mist.
Washed in pink.
Ducklings comically stretch up from the water
to snap tiny insects
from the tips of the lake grasses.
A hummingbird
pauses for an instant
at the hanging flower basket.
I have.
Time
to daydream.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
From tree to grass and back to tree
the flycatcher snatches her breakfast.
A loon cries softly in the distance.
Warmth soon engulfs the deck.
I take another sip.
I smile.
Letting my jumbled heap of
thoughts and emotions
slowly dissolve like the mist.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
Waves lapping on the shore.
Peaceful breezes in the cedars
carry a wet, smoky reminder
of last nights campfire.
Tension slowly drifts away,
burnt off by the sun.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
Gulls pitch and roll over the lake.
A dragonfly hangs motionless over the dock
as if listening to the Paddles drumming on gunwales
far down the lake.
A fish breaks the surface of the water
turning the reflected shore into lyrical abstraction.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
OH YAW EEEYAW.
THE ANCIENT WOODEN SWING
SETS THE TEMPO FOR THE DAY.

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