Archive
09/23/08 - (1)
Up All Night
Last evening, just around dusk, I entered the quiescence of the boys' camp, From the hill surmounted by the hibernating Big House.
And as I roamed through those abandoned surrounds, Past the shuttered Swamper Village cabins (Inhabited, ten months a year, by phantoms),
Then down to the tennis courts, lower diamond, shrine, Out the range road, beyond the Axeman Village, Before veering into the woods between me and the lake,
I realized how this eighty-year-old community, Consisting of perhaps a hundred structures, Is a mirror image, albeit in microcosmic proportions,
Of the Village of Lake Nebagamon itself — An alter ego, a little brother, The Big House its auditorium, the cabins its residences.
Just then, the breathing forest delivered me to the shore, With barely five minutes to witness the flaming sun Descend into the canopy of trees, on the near horizon,
Without setting the entire countryside on fire, And leave, on the air, pink, purple, and orange smudges, Its companionate swath flickering on the lake —
A shimmering bridge spanning the distance, Neither asking me to cross it or turn my back (That would have to be my decision, from start to finish).
Gradually, twilight laid its cloak of opaque silence, With the subtle touch of a lover, over the waiting land. Soon they would be sleeping side by side, under the stars,
While I, my bone marrow, my blood, my very being, Would still be energized, by those muted hues, Still be too ravished, by their beauty, to close my eyes.
09/23/08 - (1)
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