Spring at the Lake
By heinzs
Spring at the Lake Lilies and irises, blue and white on a field of green. The music of the breeze makes them dance a sinuous waltz. Attracted by the perfume, small bees alight and kiss the blossoms for their sweet reward. They, too, are caught up by the mesmerizing motion and sway to and fro with the stalks. The picnic is cast out upon the receptive blanket. Like a cornucopia the basked yields its treasures. The boys have gone down to the lake to hunt crayfish or minnows, leaving Miriam and myself to finish spreading the meal. She likes to set the plates 'just so', while I am more haphazard. This exasperates her no end, but today she is in good spirits and jokingly throws the paper napkins. A red dragonfly whirrs by, resting momentarily on the cabernet - drawn to the purple of the lead foil. Finding nothing of interest, it moves on. The boys have started quacking at the ducks. Miriam smiles and hands me a glass. The wine sips smoothly - it had been her first choice. Spring at the lake, a picnic of memories ever dear to my heart, held close and cherished now as they were then. 4/23/2002 Written April 1st, 2002 © on Apr 23 2002 06:26 PM PST, Heinz Scheuenstuhl 0 • 10
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"Spring at the Lake..."