On the Shores of Gitchee Gumee...

We sit on the shore of Lake Superior,

my brother and sister and me,

far from our routines and responsibilities,

and even our spouses.

We savor this time together,

for it is rare that we are all home at the same time.

The glorious sun kisses us and

the rocky beach on which we sit;

waves gently lick the shore and our feet-

not the usual numbing coldness

but warm enough that we

relax and drift on air mattresses.

We watch the cormorant rookery

out on Knife Island; could we float that far?

Our divergent political and religious

perspectives drift away on the gentle breeze;

we enjoy comfortable, safe conversation.

Only the seagulls want to quarrel today.

At ease with each other, we read,

search for agates, or compete to see

who can hit the floating log with a rock;

I lose despite choosing the largest ones.

A thermos of margaritas and a cooler

with sandwiches prepared by my brother

feed our body as the tranquility of

Gitchee Gumee feeds our soul.

We laugh, remembering the year

too many margaritas felled me

ungracefully like a bug stranded on its back.

The sun begins to sink, we retreat

to our cabin for wine and dinner.

My brother cooks, cleans up,

then builds the campfire;

he spoils us today, my sister and me.

We move outside to the fire,

watching the flames reach high,

swatting mosquitos, and

listening to each other,

content in familiar shared history.

The embers glow bright as we slow down

and we commit this day to memory.

— cmshingle