Uploaded on June 23, 2011
On a 62 degree morning,
the struggle rages
between inner body warmth
and raw air.
My body feels truly naked,
though it is not.
Stripped of protection,
I long for my cottage
and the comforts of inertia.
But the water is smooth and calm,
and has retained yesterday’s sun.
I slide my body in gracefully,
the air my only enemy.
The gray blanket is folded
all along the opposite shore.
Steam rises, no one is about.
The Sunday world of motor boats
and jet skis might never have been.
Gone are its brilliant waters,
its rich colors, its air of carnival.
—Elizabeth Hobbs,
Poems from the Lake
6.23.2023: A lakeside camp or home was nearly always part of my dreams, and there was a time when it might have become a reality. Now, I think I’ll pass.