Cherries By The Lake

The heat was so oppressive, we
Could barely make it up the hill
That overlooked the distant lake.

A shack with cherries there for sale,
A tiny windmill in the yard,
And both of us, exhausted —

The woman said, “Come in. Cool off.”
The air felt like a swimming pool
And you and I ate cherries in our chairs.

This comes back now, I think, because
How often, these days, all we share
Is that we both are tired,

But that such sharing is a thing.
And even one remembered fond,
Might make today, well

Easier

The Grove

I woke. My people turned to trees.
Then wondered, if I had the chance
Could I, too, with the cold winds learn
  to dance?
 
It is the grove that gives us life.
The sun, the soil that we share,
The tears of those who watch o’erhead,
  their left-by mulch, subconsciously aware —
 
I sleep; my people growing tall.
Now am I just too fast to feel
The slower dance that’s only dreamed,
  but far more
 
  real?

Little Understood

We last ate here decades ago. It hasn’t changed.

When I was just a kid, this was
The height of elegance;
My parents took their three kids here
And dined

And now I’m back in this old place
By dint of random chance:
It’s faded, slightly, but it’s still
Refined

I little understood, back then,
Just what it must have meant;
My parents did not throw money
Around

We take what we are given
As a grant when we are young;
Just part of life, like food or air
Or ground

And parents never know, when they
Set out to give a gift,
Which of the many treasures they’ve
Amassed

Will mean the most to kids, who tend
To take it all in stride;
But now, I finally understand
At last