Birch Lake

When last I was here, the lake front was crowded with families sharing picnic blankets and groups of teens on beach towels. I spent most of my time pretending to read, but really sneaking glances at a particular bikinied girl. I lay on my stomach to hide my lust.

This evening, the grasses are yellow, bent and worn from a summer of use; the birch trees are barren of leaves; a windfall is spread beneath an apple tree.

Later, I sit alone at the nearby lodge where several couples are dining in silence, staring past one another.

mountain sunset –
painted turtles slumber
on a weathered log

Looking out the window, I see her again, taste that first kiss, touch her apple-sweet breast. What was her name ...

R. Rasmussen, Contemporary Haibun Online, 3:1, March 2007