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