Poem from August

Swimming the lake, goggled,

There is black below 

I try not to see.

Stroke lightly at the surface,

Silky water slips by,

The eddy ripples down my body.

Gravity on hiatus.

Looking up - dark green, jagged edged conifers. 

white daubed blue sky,

Looking forward - the rippled water line. 

Not looking down into the colder dark.

My fear lives down there.

In the campsite with my friends,

Forest, grass, ravens up high,

Sun, blue skies, 

Cards, board games, talking, laughing, sharing snacks,

relishing this pause from responsibility and routine.

Yet, in my hammock I fail to stop the tears leaking out.

Why should we do these things we do that keep us busy?

Camping, playing, traveling, renovating.

For a spell, I fail to see any purpose.

I can't see joy in it.

It feels like nothing. 

Sometimes, looking too deep under the surface, all I can see is dark. 

L