I wake slowly adjusting to geese and bullfrogs This morning a canoe drifts through the morning haze slicing the lake surface rippling the polished reflection of the trees A father in an indigo blue shirt with his small son between his knees in an orange life jacket move soundlessly across the lake
I went back to sleep and slept through the bird’s morning assembly the barking crow, I think, is never satisfied unlike the tiny checkered bird who skims across the lake Its smile reflected in the glassy surface the ripple that it creates stretches exponentially to the shore where the deer I saw when I was swimming lifts his head and stares in my direction before turning sharply into the wood
Yesterday afternoon a bolt of lightning on its way to the center of the earth collided with an ancient spruce tree and split it down its center as I watched through my cabin window Last evening while we chanted a rainbow filled the sky outside the glass walled synagogue There is no way to explain this miracle of synchronicity Later the splintered moon rising on the lake outside my window a million celebratory fireflies and a beaver tucking its head into the water the breeze blowing across the lake separating patterns of blue and green the geese stand and watch Camp Isabella Freedman Falls Village, CT, 2006
Hiding Out