It’s Saturday morning.
The leaves have been raked and are burning in the fire pit.
From the fire, ringlets of smoke, like gray ghosts, drift across the lake.
This morning seven ducks stood on the first layer of thin ice, proudly.
As I look out the window, the dullness of the colorless sky
sets the table for a perfect memory.
Inside the fire roars as the smell of coffee awakens my senses.
Time, for a moment, has stopped to fill me up again.
