Eastman Lake Poem

Cool wind, brushed in tones of lake-blue, drifted across the water’s skin, ruffling it into soft ripples that lapped gently at my feet  Quiet, ancient greetings from a body older than memory. Nearby, a pile of boulderstone, weathered and gray, rose like a relic from the earth. Silent, stoic, just beyond the whispering grass. And…