Thoughts and Poems are the Same Thing

The Picnic Table at Lower St. Regis Lake

I am no longer afraid of bees

The fuzzy little wasps float next to my fingers

as I type this poem, sitting next to 

Lower St. Regis Lake. 

It's a perfect fall day

my flannel is on, breeze in my hair

the lake is sparkling,

canoes bob on the gentle waves.

Trace the outline of St. Regis with your finger.

Do you see the fire tower?

The clouds are pointing to it. 

My freckles are coming out in the sun.

Birkenstocks and socks, 

wildflowers quivering in the wind,

kayaks piled high next to the boat launch,

is that a butterfly or a moth?

Tears in my eyes,

nature in my ears,

the world under my fingertips,

air on my tongue.

How are you going to use today?