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ENOUGH TO STOP THE HEART

A nor’easter may roil the lake

as if a team of horses,

mouths foaming, are driven

across the wild water;

but today’s gentle breeze from the south

ripples the water like a small child

blowing a leaf across a puddle,

ruffling the blue-gray lake

with fine ridges, slopes of slate.

Listen to its gentle lap-lap,

slap-lap against the stony shore.

In the hills, spots of light slide

through a canopy of red maples and white pine

to shine on the Housatonic , now bloated with water,

as it rides and dives,

spins, tumbles, rumbles and slides

over rocks and snags,

moss and lichens plump on rocks.

And if all this

weren’t enough to stop the heart,

two deer graze in the dusky shadows.