Lake Thunder Part Deux
There's a place I can go, in the wild winter stillness - where the world goes away for a while.
I don't ever bring too much on the journey, but I always leave with a lighter pile.
The wind howls like hungry coyotes scouring the badlands - lumber pops and cracks in the stove.
A hot red heart is being forged in the furnace of me, and my mind stops its ceaseless rove.
In my crude concoction that I tacked together with pals, I sit on a bucket and think:
"What would I rather be doing than hearing the sound of beer cans cheers and tink?"
The answer is nothing, and it helps me to smile as the smoke fills the air and my clothes.
I used to think about careers and minivans and houses, but I know I don't need any of those.
All I need is crusty snow that I trample under foot, as I walkabout the frozen terrain.
Some pals, some rocky shores, some crackling elm and a chance to get centered again.
There's a place I can go, in the wild winter stillness - where the world goes away for a while.
I don't ever bring too much on the journey, but I always leave with a lighter pile.
