My Attempt at Poetry–All For Fish
We went on our first family vacation in two years.
It was a week long. It wasn’t long enough.
Tomorrow, Hottie Hubby returns to work. Sadness.
I am sure in the next few days, if not weeks, you will begin to see snapshots of our holiday in Canada.
For the meantime, while I am majorly playing catch-up on the 250 emails in my in-box, grocery shopping for Co-Op, kindergarten being launched at the Granola School House, review and blog post deadlines to be crafted and met this week, piles of stinky week-old laundry to be washed/dried/folded/put away, whole foods cooking resumed, exercise to be enforced upon my lethargic body, slings to be cut/ironed/sewn/mailed and a few other things that I don’t even know about yet, let me share a little ditty (poetry) that I wrote while out in the wild forest of Canada (did I mention that we saw 3 bears, moose poop and moose footprints, lots of black flies and mosquitoes, hummingbirds, and loons)?
OK . . . here goes. Don’t expect much.
Early morning rising.
Can’t see out the rear window.
Miles of asphalt Led to a Starbucks,
Which fades away to mountains of scenery.
Over a long bridge; I trust that engineer.
Thousands of fish beneath me.
Through a foreign gate;
No, I didn’t bring a gun.
Strange signs, Funny accents.
Beer (don’t ask), milk, fishing license.
A bumpy road and a hope for fish.
Red wood my grandfather’s hands touched;
Four generations of memories. We are there.
So are the fish.
My childhood is reawakened,
and reenacted through my sons—
Except with more abandon
And a God given desire for adventure and danger.
Blueberries, hummingbirds, and loon calls.
Aunt Mary still smells, She is still an outhouse.
Beautiful skies, pancakes, euchre, and shooting stars.
Relaxing afternoons, primed pump, and canoe rides.
Late night conversations,
never electricity– yet every morning mocha’s.
that got away.