August Mornings at the Pond
Darlene Sprague

August mornings bring something magical
and promises something new

The fog rises and welcomes the dawn
the sun comes up and streams down on the pond

A lone loon is heard calling for it's mate
not knowing where it is
or if it has met it's fate

Waters are calm and mirrored
revealing currents of silver and blue

Lillies float among their pads
 as the ducks scurry round
Catching  bugs for breakfast
or whatever can be found

Bass rise to the surface
to join in the feast
 A moose walks to the shoreline
 a giant of a beast

Gentle winds begin moving the leaves
Birds wake up and stir among the trees

The soft hum of a trolling motor can be heard
A man in a boat sits quietly fishing
 not saying a word

On the shoreline lopes an Otter
A kingfisher falls from the sky
 and crashes into the water
It comes up with a fish
  so does the Otter

Mink runs up and down the sides of the brook
poking their nose in every nook

The brook gurgles and spits bubbles that burst
Waves rush to the shoreline
 to see which one will be first

Time isn't the only thing that flies
Geese honk and take to the skies

Herons stare looking for something to eat
 they walk bending their knees backwards
and grab with their beaks

An August morning at the pond
 you don't want to miss
It's the end of the summer season
and full of heavenly bliss

Fall is coming so the Crickets say
They can be heard fiddling their tunes
at the end of the day

 Garden In The Sky
Darlene Sprague

The mist lifts off the pond
 like smoke rising  from a fire
 billowy and white

Floating gently over the surface
pushing  upwards 
fading into the sky
A child watches
 innocently wondering why​

Little swirls of white
dancing across the water
Like spirits drifting upwards
drawn to the morning light

Where does the mist go
A child might ask

It rises to the  heavens
 and is gathered up by Angels
​to make fluffy pillows and blankets
for those that are new

One day they will make one 
for me and you

With baskets full
 they weave and sew
My Mom told me this
that's how I know

The rain washes them fresh and clean
and the sun dries them out
The winds keep them fluffy
and floating about

Everything has a reason
on God's heavenly earth

This is where clouds are formed
​ from the garden on the pond
in the morning light of dawn


The little cottage by the pond
it's such a magical place

There's something that stirs within the heart
like greeting someone you love, face to face

To be by the water in the early spring of the year
Can anything compare, can anything come near

To sit under the pines and feel the warm spring breeze
Remembering back last winter
when there were days we would freeze

To watch the ice go out, which puts on a show
to see it disappear with all the winter snow

The sun brings new life to all the vegetation
and the pond becomes alive with song
in "Gods special water creation"

I love it when the cottage is opened in the spring
It's such an adventure, and always a joyous thing

There is so much to look forward to
the excitement begins anew
The moment the doors are opened
​ memories come flooding through

The outline of the big bass, that someone caught
drawn on the back of the door
Little sailboats hand painted, on the kitchen floor​​​​​​​ ​​​

A birds nest woven out of birch bark
and the fossil found on a sandy shore
Old fish pole's and tackle
that no one uses anymore

A picture of my dear old Dad
​ fishing off the dock
Mom's cast iron owl
​ that once sat on a branch in the tree
And an old photo of Gram and me

A haven full of treasures, so precious I can't explain
Old railroad spikes from the rails, that once carried the train

A tree wart the kids carved on, to put their names
An anchor found on the sand bar 
a washboard found by the shore
Maybe it was something left behind
by the Civilian Conservation Corp​​​ ​​​

I love my little wood stove, and my rusty water pump
I even like my outhouse, which fits my rounded rump

Some folks like their cottages so much
they are willing to put up with all the noise
When people go out on the water with their boats
and all their water toys

I could leave if I wanted to, when it becomes a zoo
but I have a need to be there
​ like all those other folks do​​​

The taxes can be hefty, they could drive some folks out
But you know, I would spend my last dollar to stay
of that I have no doubt

The old places are dwindling fast
The shoreline is changing into a town
Maybe someday it will be called "Pond City"
I don't think I want to be around

It is very pleasant, when life is kind of slow
Folks now zip by me, that I don't even know
Oh, how silly of me, did I expect old times to last
I guess I'm just growing old, still living in the past

The little pond, that is so wild and holding it's own
​One can only wonder, how much longer it can last
since now it is surrounded by yearly homes.​

When it's time to close the cottage, in the late fall
I fight back tears, knowing I've got to say goodbye to it all

My memories will tide me over till the next spring
If I am lucky enough to get one more time around
When once again I open those door that fills my senses
​ with sweet nostalgia abound
I'll hook up the water, and prime the water pump
Clean the stove pipe and start a fire in the stove
Then my Springer and I
will stand out on the shoreline
and look down towards the south cove

Watching for the Loons, to see if they are here
Hoping they will grace us with their presence
for another year

Oh, smell that birch bark burning, it will give you a high
This is something you can't go into a store and buy

The folks with year round houses, they are a happy lot
But it just may be they are missing
things they know of not

Like opening up the cottage
every spring of the year

A wonderful ritual, that I so look forward to
and hold in my heart so dear

Darlene Sprague