House By the Lake

Do you remember the house by the lake? The house that was always filled with a thousand good times, a house that never saw a tear nor heard a sad tale, the house that saw sunrises and sunsets and heard thunder and felt rain on its funny old roof stuffed with birds' nests and pine cones and cobwebs and such that never mattered much to the people who called it home because the laughs kept the funny roof from falling in and the good times kept the old walls sturdy and straight? So do you remember the house by the lake? Do you remember that old tall pine tree? The one where the owl would sit until three, and we'd hear every hoot and then every reply from some owl in the distance or one passing by? And then come the morning the loons would begin their yodels and wails that would spread across the lake like musical ripples announcing to all that they would be with us but only 'til Fall. For at that time many others would leave and return to wherever they came from and return to their Autumn ways of doing things far removed from the Summer, removed from the pine-heavy breeze, removed from those carefree days when Time would take a Summertime break. So do you remember the house by the lake? copyright © 2019 Gregory Firlotte