They think I'm an intruder
But today I'm Alpha Goose
The dock is mine
While the honkers
Glide about the lake
A band of coots in their wake
Waiting for my departure
wind brisk enough now
to scatter sun-jewels
across the lake
On my open page
lands an exquisite
blue dragonfly
When the wind ceases
The lake becomes a mirror
Cottonwoods across the way
Lay down a sheen of gold
The stiff morning breeze
lifting the pages of Abbey
I read on the docks
Access to grace is such a simple thing it makes me wonder
if people really want it.
Sitting on the Gold Hollow docks
In the warm November sunlight (surprising)
Letting the light breeze
Run across the lake & brush my cheek
Is nothing short of grace for me.
Not just here, but in the twilight clouds,
The deep silent forest, the "second snow"
Up some obscure trail in the Sierra.
Yet so many prefer -Oprah?
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