Rudd Pond, 1937
A mirage of mist at dawn
floats up from the lake
revealing a camouflaged
turtle hiding out on green
and yellow Lilly pads.
A red rising sun has
upstaged the morning sun.
Morning is Earl, the farmer
chopping ice, bearing fresh
cream, home-baked bread, butter
and blueberry pie.
Wriggling dew worms for a
six year old boy in faded
jeans and dirty white sneakers
is tickled to tackle the
jumping pickerel, but settles
for a small mouth bass for lunch.
Afternoon is following the
stony trail of the Bish Bash Falls.
Hunting orange salamanders,
jet black tadpoles and toads
as we climb the fire tower mountain.
A white tail doe plunges
into the swirling waters.
The sweet aroma of balsam pine.
Evening is sparks flying
up from the campfire.
The night sky saturated
with falling stars.
Catching fireflies to light
up a jar, as a chorus of
cicada, crickets and locusts
sing you to sleep.
A speckled frog croaks
in the moonlight.
Milt Ehrlich