Today is Summer Solstice. I knew there was a poem in there somewhere; although I had so much more imagery than could fit into a haiku, I went that route anyway.
In truth, there were fried mozzarella sticks at Darion Lake, while the tar-reeking blacktop warmed the soles of my sneakers just before I rode the Viper and made myself sick. There were picnic tables and sunburns and pools and cottages on Adirondack lakes. There were J-strokes in canoes and hushed midnight waters lit only by a disk of moon. There was a sense that maybe in another life I was actually Huckleberry Finn. There were families of bunnies in deserted barns and skunk-smelling golden retrievers dipped in tomato baths. There were swings and trees and forts and clubs. There was scaffolding and paint and 5 cents per weed. There was the smell of a fresh towel as I exited the pool...and love that doesn't always look like love but always ACTS like love.