Summers at Sacandaga

where mountains faded

into the twilight sky

and the sky spilled itself

onto the lake, 

where the lake 

rushed towards the shore

and the shore

towards the crescendos of laughter..

amid the clinking of  glass,

towards the sputtering of fire

and the rising aroma of home food,

towards guitars strumming

over the whisper of voices,

and shuffling of cards...

towards the huddled fellowship

of ancient pines and rocks

soaked in starry nights...

where life spelt fun and peace

both at once,

where cooking and eating

were parallel pursuits,

where discussions on philosophy,

work and politics, 

all happened in the same breath...

where we gained a few inches

on the girth thru our own gourmandise, and a few in height

by pulling each other's legs

where, when summer over, 

Labor day party concluded,

the shore would recede,

leaving a treasure trove

of smooth, rounded pebbles,

and driftwoods for

die-hard camp-lovers, as they walked,

reminiscing the season,

their feet wobbly 

on the uneven terrain, 

autumn colours

strewn like a quilt over their face

the cold breeze 

beginning to sting the eye.

yes, this is where our kids grew up,

learning to gather kindling,

light a fire, roast marshmallows...

and, this is where we flocked,

summer after summer,

to feel young again, 

just one more time...