Priest Lake Morning Fog

Its early morning, tea time

I gaze toward the dock

A kayak glides silently from the fog

Could it be?

She steps onto the dock

Filtered sunlight on her long soft hair

An open, welcoming smile

The memory of her perfume, the warmth of the morning sun

She waves her hand, I lift mine in return

I sip my tea

And like the girl, the memory fades

I’m sixty now, not sixteen

The morning fog lifts from the lake surface

It’s gonna be a good day

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