Lying on the Floating Dock

Location

Light glittering gently off crests of lapping wake
 
thick rusty chains groan
 
in protest of my featherweight
 
 
fresh cut wet grass
 
assaults my tender nose
 
tainted sour by the smell of lawn mower gasoline
 
 
beneath my back
 
the familiar scent of the old dock
 
escapes from the old worn wood
 
and decides to dance among the gas and grass
 
in a delicious tango
 
invisible to the eye
 
but delightful to the nose
 
 
high above me
 
lost in amongst the trees
 
the birds chatter and gossip
 
in their own secret way
 
one of these hidden voices appears
 
from the tall green trees
 
a little baby bluebird
 
is laughing at me
 
 
water droplets caress my face
 
and try to flow once more
 
into the placid lake
 
they have always called home
 
 
my fingers tauntingly skim
 
the surface of the icy cool water
 
inviting me to jump back in
 
off the docks old cracked weathered face
 
 
it is in these moments
 
when the taste of freedom
 
resembling closely the taste of sunscreen and chapstick
 
that the world slips away
 
and noting else matters

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