- Patterns of footprints layered under pine rich loam, left as a collective trace of shared repast. how many meals were share in this one spot?
- Exuberant voices captured by the limb awning above, stored like ancestral linen in a hope chest unfolded and spread out in remember whens.......
- How many have sat at that worn old picnic table surrounded by the sturdiness of the white pine and gazed out at the lake on a perfect summer day?
- how many have sat up late into the hot night drinking a beer with a friend, listening to the loon in the distance.....
- how many kids knelt on the benches, their fingers covered in white gooey glue and paint as they whiled away an afternoon creating popsicle stick cabins with wonky roofs and broken stick picket fences?
- a solitary early morning riser, hot coffee in hand......journal and pen. she watches another person paddle close along the shoreline lost inside a quiet reverence.....
- two in love, tucked in beside one another on the same side watching the sun go down as they shared their tentative confessions.....hoping time sleeps
- carved hearts and intials whittled into the repainted wood lasting traces connecting to the memory of scented pine
- silly songs, card games, laughter............lots of laughter echos and bounces back off the old branches of the giving trees.
Seasons come and go stretching over generations of footprints in the pine rich loam.....layers of traces mixed into the clay connections. It makes me want to sit down quietly to add my own to the memories left behind, and to listen to the joy nestled under the canopy.
no trace camping? there's no such thing.
come sit with me
lets slow down the day
lets escape the outside world rush
can you hear the loon? Ah, the lonely call beckons