I walked to the lake today.
A dusty log cabin sat stooped between willows and pines,
stubborn and stoic in the middle of the city,
The interstate hummed behind it.
The wind was still, but a stand of aspens and their leaves chattered in a breeze.
A man stood on the point by the shimmering water and fished with his children.
Their laughter tiptoeing down the shore.
The day’s heat broke, and I stepped into a bar. Wet oak, cold beer, and whiskey ester were in the forecast.
Sunlight crept by the faded window, streaking over the wall and ceiling, through the smoke.
Al Green on the jukebox.
I played a round of pool, I won, and I left.
Walking down the cracked sidewalk, I passed a wrinkled old scarecrow of joy,
watering his lush garden as his black and white chickens dosey doed around his feet.
The spray cast a rainbow around him.
His aromatic Russian sage rising through the darkening orange, red, and yellow sky,
tossed some bees into a frenzy.
His eyes sparked behind his coke bottle glasses rimmed with earth and pollen.
His smile said, evening son.
It is the longest day of the year,
the longest day,
made of minutes crawling by,
the longest day of its kind, spent alone.
DoubleSpeak 