Island Getaway


The call of the loon floats through the air
on the wings of the faintest  breeze,
bearly making a ripple on the glassy reflection
spread across the water of the lake. 

In the fading light of late summer dusk
the only other sounds 
are the slow rythmic whispers
of the leaves in the nearby trees 
and the lazy kiss of tiny waves 
as they tickle the sand at the water’s edge.

Having tired of playing tag with the clouds
through the heat of the day,
the sun basks in the coolness of evening
overcome by the heaviness of sleep.

The bustling city streets are a million lifetimes away,
a distant memory hanging out to dry
in the shadows beneath the ancient maples.
I close my eyes and imagine
that I am Robinson Crusoe, and tomorow 
I won’t have to leave this peaceful place.


march 2005
©Janet Reid



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