september sadness

September Sadness by Jory Squibb

Megunticook, the queen of lakes
I sailed on a sunny afternoon
“Jump Rock”– so silent now–the screams
were just a thought, in the wavelet’s tune

Those children sit at quiet desks
I hope their learning’s half as fair
as the wonder of a trusted launch
–feet first–out into the empty air

At last, this lake is mine alone
though shared with mother loons and young
we no longer fear the boats and skis,
yet i’d rather share this precious plum

At the lake’s far-distant Northeast edge,
the high red sail, I hoist with ease
and glide with puffy clouds, before
a rare but gentle Northeast breeze

Some subtle shift has come about:
these grey-lined clouds, they hint of fear,
of the worry that every creature feels
in the shortening days, this time of year

The green-brown lake of our summer days
a darker hue, this season brings
is it algae, clouds or the angled sun?
or a mystery deep in the realm of things?

My balloon-like spinnaker once aloft
has always brought an excited hail
from loungers on the docks and decks
“Honey, look, a sail, a sail!”

Is there for every thing, a time
to jump, or sit so painfully still
a time for lazy sun-drenched days
for jackets zipped against the chill?

A time to muse, in the waning year,
what havoc the coming cold might bring
and even to wonder if one will feel
the greening of another spring?

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