At the Lake

A poem. The mutt and I have laid claim to a bench, on a ridge, over-looking the lake. We visit frequently, first thing in the morning.

At the Lake

by Tracey Ast ~ Summer 2011

the voice of Rhianna
crawls clear across
the surface of the lake
rippling with riders
risen early from rest
making the most
of the calm
that awaits
the chaos.

buoyed boats
rock like babes
to bird song as
the old man, my pup
chases scents
and bugs,
too tired to walk too far
too young to forget
the hunt.

a beacon of hope,
the sun warms
the bench
where I sit.

another day promised.

at the lake.

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