Trimmed the grass along our beach wall,
Used a scythe to cut it down.
I saw a brown bird so small,
It made a piping sound.
A long narrow beak and skinny legs,
Protecting a small nest containing three eggs.
It was a Sandpiper nest I had found.
With kids and dogs the nest was in danger,
I put up a structure to serve as a manger.
Not long after to our delight,
Those Priest Lake eggs hatched and the birds did take flight.
The beach is not ours it is there to share,
With our lake animal friends and those in their care.
Sunrise over Sundance, streaming light into my room
Washes across my face, like sand on a deck chased by a broom
I could sleep another hour into the new day
But the sun announces it is time to awaken and play
Alas, for this day I have no plans
I shall enjoy quiet reflection on the Priest Lake sands.
For we, time is a wasting resource.
Too much for the young, too little for the old.
As time wastes away the enthusiasm and energy of our youth,
All we might hope is we are in a place we want to be.
No place does waste away time as does Priest Lake;
And there is no greater place to be, and have time waste away.
We stopped for gas not long ago,
Served by Gas Dock Girl, with golden skin aglow.
I pumped gas at Outlet forty years before,
Her mother worked at Elkins during the summer of seventy-four.
I looked into her eyes, it was her mother I saw.
I hid my blush, holding a hat against my cheek and jaw.
My wife asked me what could be wrong,
Just old memories dear, like a favorite song.