I mentioned in my writing blog www.evelomoro.blogspot.com a few days ago that I would post my poem "The Dock," written at the lakehouse last fall. Hope you like it, and remember - I'm not feeling quite so melancholy about it anymore.

The Dock

How many times have I sat here

looking out on the ripples and chops of the lake?

I cannot count them.

How often have I watched the fishing boats,

the speed boats and pontoons crossing the water

at various speeds? I cannot say.

Much of the activity, the landscape and sky

became too familiar and faded until

little was noticed.

I was just sitting on the dock.

It is only now when a “For Sale” sign is staked

in the yard, when we have to keep the house clean

for showing, when the grass

has to be kept well-mown – it is only now

that these sights become once again,

precious to me. Because the next sunset

over the water may be the last one I see,

the hummingbirds who fly to the feeders

on the deck may return when someone else

makes the sugar water, the irises in the garden

will bloom for someone else next spring,

and the dock may be painted red instead of gray.