Leonard Lake

All year long I've driven to work along Water Street to avoid to worst of the unpleasant big-box-store-fast-food-chain-strip-mall cluster that lies between home and the school. I turn onto the Shore Road and come up into the parking lot from the back, pretty much parking in the same spot every time. All year long, just as I turn right into the school, there on the left is a path going through some trees with water in the distance. In theory I knew what was down there, but I was always headed to work and never actually stopped to see. So today, which was really the last full day of work for the year, I finally pulled over and explored this little scene which I had passed by almost 200 times. It was really quite nice and quiet, and I spent a few pleasant moments there before heading into the building.


For days, I never look up or down,
tracing a map of small horizons:
house, office, liquor store,
turning my eyes from face to face,
page to street sign,
feeding the meters.

But miles inland,
streets take the shape of the shoreline.
Whole suburbs dodge the granite head.

Feeling this,
I begin to raise my head
up to the honking intersections of geese.
And I begin to lower my eyes
to the Indian trails,
the worn paths of animals
coming to salt and water.
And trolls in the subway earth,
and angels,
making their final approach.

Looking Up and Down, by John Woods


Addendum: Jo's wisdom teeth came right out no problem, with nothing but local anesthesia. So far so good. Whew!