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The Birches
As the day draws to a close,
rays of setting sunlight echo through the peeling birch trees,
with the brightest segment of sun, just out of reach.
Pine sap trickles down onto the mud riddled grass,
as the smell of hinted bark and chlorophyll stain the air.
Just off the edge of the dock, the water dulls as critters move
and mix the elements of the lake bed in a swirling dance
that dissipates as quickly as it forms.
Even the tiny spider-like water bugs shimy
as they skie across the water like it was ice.
Frogs yammer in the wind, as they wait for their entree to come flying by.
Leaves rustle as trees higher than me sprout up from deep below
to fill the sky and disperse the light.
A faint laughter of children whispers in the distance
as birchwood sways above my head,
and a sound more delicate than wind creates a nostalgia from days gone by.
Serenity creeps in like the chill of the wind coming from the north
and yet, it rushes a calmness through me
that feels like an embrace from an old friend.
The sun brings shades of warmth across my face,
as the silence of this golden hour is upon us.
Dad and I sit in creaky old wooden chairs -
chairs dusted with mist, peeling paint in layered colors,
and wood that had peaked it’s life expectancy long ago -
Except I couldn’t care less, because all I need is right here.
A calm blur sets in as I take in the beauty around me -
This is a moment I will remember forever in picture perfect detail.
Each ripple of the quiet water waves decompresses my spirit.
Feeling the warm glow, I lean back and so does my dad -
Resting, and indulging our senses as the sway of birches commence above us
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