Wave Song

A vast land
Small enough to comfort me

Not an ocean,
too big
Not a pond,
too small

A meadow of green
A field of waves

So loud, so soft
So big, so small
Green Lake is a blanket

*          *          *

I am standing on a cliff made of sandstone that crumbles into the lake. I watch branches that sway on the trees; their visible roots are a baby’s arms, clinging to its mother. I gaze at a skyline where a bright ball of fire is suspended, as if by a string, from the heavens.

I walk down rickety steps, plants reaching out to brush against me, not grab me, not scratch me, embrace me. I laugh as a breeze plays with my hair, as a puppy would. I run down a creaking dock and jump into an ice-cold, refreshing lake. Bubbles fly around me as I sink to the sandy bottom. This is a heaven, under the dock, over rocks of many sizes, each I know as if they were my friends. The water is clear, showing me sand, seaweed and so many stones. Bobbing up, I see again that skyline, trees, so green, like a line scribbled by a two-year-old. But I remember when I was zipping around on a small little boat, a motor with a seat. I remember gripping onto my strong brother, a security in front of me. And that line was not so fuzzy anymore. Large hotels, fancy restaurants, mansions, so rich but beautiful, all placed like a collage on a background of thick, lush, green trees. Our little cabin is small and humble compared to these huge houses, but it is more of a home.

Leaving the lake, wrapping a towel around my cold body, I watch the sun leave the horizon; I watch the sky grow dark. I see the last purple clouds disappearing like smoke; I see a few brave stars beginning to peep out. I walk up those steps and on past the cliff, feeling grass on my ankles. Darkness is here; voices and light protrude from our small, humble cabin.