A Varnished House
The lake is surrounded
by burnt-orange grass that bends.
The sparse light rain drops
make perfect circles
on the glassy dark water.
They widen until
they sleekly, slyly
disappear. The lake mirrors
the late afternoon:
dried-apricot clouds
from which peek a chilled soft blue,
a worn trodden campsite;
evergreen pine
needles soft as worn spandex
next to a shiny house.
And the sun-light shifts
the early Autumn sky, steeped
in the still-reaching
fingers of Summer.
This civil landscape is a captive
of a watercolor,
from a nomadic
palette. The varnished brown house..
a lumberjack..his ax,
a bronze age tool
for civilization. A stormy,
ancient wilderness.
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