Closing Up The Cabin

Closing up the cabin means dreaming of summer for nine agonizing months.

Perfection, my sweet oblivion to mortal miseries,

Consistently washed from my mind,

Crickets scrubbed my soul clean,

Tree frog and owl compositions layered upon inland lake melodies.

 

If risen moon, wax or wane, full or slice,

Lake surface reassured Luna

‘Yes, you are fairest of them all’.

I never heard fish leap through light on lake

But satisfied snaps against the surface confirmed,

One less moth bumping against the yellow porch light tomorrow.

 

An early fishing boat slowly making it’s way along the shoreline

Will no longer wake me with gentle alarm just before sunup.

Screen door, rusty spring hinge,

Squeals each time it’s opened

Smacks loudly in memory long after WD 40 can is empty.

 

Time will once again run on demand,

Not by who’s swimming where,

Softball tonight at the recreation center,

Volleyball on Tuesday and Thursday afternoon,

Bingo for Baptists on Friday nights at the Catholic Church downtown.

 

Friends halt along the shoreline and sit on piers,

Feet flipping water on relatives for the last time this year

Old Adirondack chairs filling quickly,

Hammocks sway, jealously guarded

Tree swings, one more push please?

Afar, latecomers clicking like rosary beads

Heading towards the altar of the lake front fire pit.

 

Offer thanks to the Milky Way and heavens above

While kids eat S’mores, weenies on a stick,

Parent’s off a bit, literally, with canned beer iced in a galvanized tub,

Latest tall, long fishing tales,

Best expectations for the Packers-Badgers football season

Argued between flatlanders and cheeseheads with setting sun flaming through tall trees.

 

Most of the boats are on trailers, or scheduled for pick up and storage.

Owning a cabin means turning off the water,

Draining the pipes,

Deep sigh as you drive up the road,

Squeeze an artery clogged

wheeze a bit as you blend into homebound traffic

and live a bit of forever in the past.

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