End of Summer
The days pass, the seasons go around the sun, and I look up to the clouds moving above the water and see the distant flow, clouds full of summer's heat and heat lighting. They make their way to the horizon. They are the last clouds of summer and they are strong and hovering, massive clouds full of greys, white and yellow taking over the sky and making a ceiling of cover or concern.
The shore line's reeds mark the rise and fall of the waning summer's tide and the muddy banks are full of sultry smells of mud and sand and a summer's washing. I see the banks as I pass them, they are the same, but they are new on this afternoon. The view from my boat passing the shoreline, the wind in one's face and the sound of the waves on the bow, the warm air that has a hint of Fall and the sun setting in the distant stare all come together to join the familiar, granting a glimpse into the past of so sweet, and offering a sense of wholeness in the joining.
Some of my most memorable days have been spent watching this shoreline as I passed by, I watched it today, and I felt the days wash in and out of me, like a diary of my life and yet, it all remains the same.
It's summer's end, but the clouds above, the shoreline with each turn in the river's bend are the pull that makes time stand still, all the whole, joining its' ages, so deep into summer's passage and they show me a framed movie of days gone by, watching or wading, playing on the same shoreline or watching it as I passed by on a cruiser, cruising in at day's dusk or out at dawn with each frame of my life watching the same and caught up in the wonderment and the mystery of the shoreline and it's calling.
It remains the same in my view and like no where else, and all in one spot. The tall grasses, the drift wood, the channel markers, the houses and their docks, the boat houses, all connecting the days from long ago to the present.
