A Walk at Blue Lake

Green is the color all around me on my walk to Blue Lake.

Green, glowing in the reflection of eyes.

Green, of pine needles, of moss, of patches of grass.

Green, the smell of earth and tree sap, of deep breaths in and out- of sighs.

Perhaps the mind can recall some faint memory of Eden.

There is green in the twinkling stream that seeks food on its way to the hungry river, whose mighty tongue licks up sunlight whispering “More, more.”

Green is the color that peeks around tree trunks and beckons you onward.

Alas, measured daylight warns against another curious step, too long is the mountain climb.

I must descend backward to less lively colors, to dutiful colors of brown and grey, to man-made imitations, impersonations of color.

Yet green will glisten in my memory like a glossy postcard and I will take with me a memento of the forest; a river rock perhaps.

I will cherish it like a love letter until I reach the waters of the distant mountain lake- bathed in blue.


For my beautiful mother Jeanne.


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