REST AREA U. S. 2
It was always our favorite place to stop
there on the northern end of Lake Michigan.
It was so strange being there today
without her and Max.
The boardwalk from the parking lot
quickly takes me to the trail
to what was our beach—
to all I once took for granted.
Max was the wonder, water dog
as he chased driftwood ducks
through the gentle surf.
My Gwen, pant legs rolled up
hands me her sandals,
wades, bends over, calls Max,
head held high, he joyfully leaps to her.
The sandy trail wanders through
the colors of early summer in Michigan—
poplar sapling hold hands with tiny pines
green sea grass slaps at my ankles,
yellow buttercups nod
brown-eyed Susans stare at me
a tangle of purple sweet peas
and a bramble of rambling roses
hold my hand on my return to beige world.
The Prius seems so empty and colorless,
I even miss the panting wet-dog smell.
most of all I miss her fresh-air smile
and a kiss for the road.
John A. Bayerl, June 21, 2011—Summer solstice
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