The sun has come out after a showery
Sunday morning
and I have taken my handwork
onto
the deck.
The air smells of wet wood,
soil
and lake
water.
Quiet and still, I hear a gull calling in the distance.
The campers in the campground next door
have not yet emerged
from their tents
and their travel
trailers,
and I savour the moments
of stillness
before their children
re-discover the chill of the water
and dogs
begin the business
of chasing squirrels from the trees.
Across the lake, a lone fisherman
drifts,
and I can hear the faint tick-tick-ticking
of his
reel.
I sit in the hot sun
until I begin to feel the trickle
of sweat
behind my knee
and behind my neck,
under m
y hair.
Eventually
the quilt becomes
too hot
to hold on my lap.
I put stitching daisies
and feathers
aside
until the cool of the evening
entices
me to return
to it
once
again.
