Summer Stars

Remember driving out that long road to the lake?

I hear it’s gated after dark now and that during the day, someone in a uniform charges by the car, trailer, and boat

But, remember when it was open and the movie or bowling, ended early, or we just didn’t have anything else to do?

We’d drive out to that empty parking lot by the boat launch and park as far away from that single poor-excuse for a street lamp

Taking our queue from every stereotypical teen movie, we’d park the car and sit on the warm-from-the-motor hood, leaning against the cool-from-the-drive windshield.

The dry summer heat was pushed away out there by the lake water smell – like mildew, motor oil, and rain

and a flimsy evening breeze

And the stars were brilliant everywhere – and facing into the lake: reflected

It seemed in those moments we were floating

Dark and dreamy

at full attention

soaking up every detail of the world around us

as it melted into the Milky Way.

Morning Tulips

Bright sunshine through the windshield

three pairs of sunglasses

one foot out the drivers window, two feet on the dash, two out the passenger side.

The only ones awake in a house full of silly sideways sleeping teens

Off to get donuts in a truck named Cody

fighting over music and singing along regardless of who wins

bands that no longer exist – and maybe didn’t even a year later

and bands that have outlived our morning tradition

closest shop two towns away

but the sweet taste of freedom and friendship was worth the drive.