The lake that never leaves.

I've been wanting to write a poem about this place--this lake, our house here--for the longest time. I thought of this title for it yesterday, when I arrived up the driveway and stood near the house and breathed the air, thinking, "Oh, this lake that never leaves".

Because that's something I love most about it. Of all the moves and changes and (alleged) growing up over the years, this lake, this house, has always been right here. My mother and I realized that one perfect morning on the dock, at that mysterious hour before the wind picks up and the lake is flawlessly smooth. She pointed out how for both of us it's the only thing that's been constant in our lives; we've both come here yearly since we were born. A respite we can rely on; an anchoring place.

I was getting worried that I wouldn't make it up here this year. I kept being detained by work or miscommunications with family. But I got here, and I am so happy I did. It's just about freezing right now and I couldn't be happier. Weird, eh? It's still beautiful even with all the deciduous leaves gone and most plants dead for the season. It's so quiet, so peaceful. The air is still fresh, the wind off the lake cool and heavy.

I don't think I've mentioned that when I die, I want to be buried here. There's a graveyard nearish the lake, along the west of it; that's where I want to be interred. I've also got most of the rest of my funeral planned, but that's irrelevant. This is where I want to rest in death as well as life.

That's probably kind of creepy. Oh well. The point is, it's beautiful here, and such a significant part of my life; I'm grateful to have a place like this to go to, to rely on, to rest.

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