breathing in lake scent on breezes
fluttering in blades of grass
– before I grew old –
for the fragrance always
awakens the ghosts:
of those I loved.
People who have passed,
more than the living, come to mind . . .
in lake breezes;
as though it’s kind of up to me
to summon forth their memory,
in wafts of beach
enfolded by shushing waves.
Though I often slip from my tender reflections,
a bit wistful and slightly curious;
left to wonder: how will I come to my dearly beloveds
. . . and if I will come at all.
Photo: Lake Breezes – W. Bourke
© 2013 Wendy Bourke