Like a thirsty dog,
the lake lapped the shore,
leaving driftwood and other minute possessions
for treasure hunters, young and old,
in search of clues,
shedding light on the miracle
we call life.
Sun fell through outstretched trees,
lining Erie’s coast,
adding to the mystique,
luring us to the magical water’s edge.
Just beyond the worn stone breakwall,
silver-white lake gulls bobbed the waves,
occasionally swishing their longish bills
in the steel-gray water.
A pious-looking fisherman,
with a scruffy graying red beard
and large rough hands,
dumped his leftover minnows in the water,
creating a commotion among the gulls,
who quickly traded their peace for a savory meal.
As we rounded the top of the last hill,
looking out over the sparkling lake waters,
we eyed a large freighter in the distance
and heard its bellowous horn.
Only then did we realize,
we had been helplessly lost in the moment
on Erie’s beautiful shore.
Poetic Alchemist 
Dan…thanks, and yes we do. How funny, huh?
we do trade our peace for a savory meal, don’t we?
Thanks Soulless and thanks Pat. Soulless, it was a magnificent scene. This poem wrote itself.
Pat, do you really think so? Wow. I appreciate you saying that.
Don this is a fantastic poem!!
The scene with the gulls and the fisherman — beautifully portrayed. I see it in my mind as a still moment, on an oil canvas painting. ^_^ Thank you.
Thanks Aurora and Polona. This poem wrote itself, or maybe the fisherman did…
i love hanging around near the water… thank you for seme memorable moments
Nicely captured.
Thanks Floots. Indeed it was…indeed it was!
souds like a great time and place in which to lose oneself
cheers