Camping in Amish Country
We rarely rise to see the sun rise, but now
it tauts and scorches our canvas tent. The
camp air is green from last night's
pebbled rain and feeds the rise and fall of
our drawn out morning breaths that
unwrap like new roots.
The afternoon gathers a tense
silence. We escape down to the clear,
unmapped lake and casually violate
the shared bed of lupines and violas
and emerging ferns, we pass through
white pine trees, trunks streaked with
their own white sperm, and watch the
sun grow slick on the water.
We see it flame and lust on the
lake’s back, then it's crowded out
by heavy clouds; we see it stutter,
then give up in regret and small
despair. Everything is there in this
aching day we could not quite grab
hold of - not the day and not each
Mike Forecki is a semi-retired attorney who lived in Eau Claire for over 30 years. Read more from Mike.