The Walk North From Lakeview

The Walk North From Lakeview

Why don’t you come with us.  You won’t be a

bother, if that’s what you’re worried about. 

We’ll drop by as we make our way down the

slope toward the tree, the one aligned just right

for shade on long, languid summer days, bare,

a stark presence the last time we drove out

this way, parking on the far edge, cutting

through to avoid the icy lane, our boots

biting into the thin, white crust, breaking

the flat silence, a stillness that vibrates

with your presence, you and all the rest tucked

away, ticking off the seasons, ruing

the deer that come to graze on the flowers. 

We wait while you bundle yourself up in

your old cardigan to ward off the chill

on the breeze off Deer Lake then leave by the

main gate, heading north on Depot Road past

the beach, dormant lifeguard tower the sole

witness to our leisurely stroll, the three

of us, until I turn to see we’re not

alone.  We seem to have been joined by a

few of the others out for a walk on

this fine spring day, more than a few, in fact,

enough to merit a police permit. 

I mention this to the fellow striding

behind me, dapper in a felt bowler

and handlebar moustache, and it occurs

to me he could be a former mayor

or town hall crony so I watch my p’s

and q’s.  In town, we walk the path around

Depot Park, then head back at the head of

an impromptu parade snaking back on

itself, nodding politely as some tip

hats or snap crisp salutes, our past catching

up with us or the other way around,

I suppose.  We slip back into Lakeview

through a gap in the old gate, the one they

padlock, and wave goodbye to them as they

drop out one by one until it’s just the

three of us again.  “I’m so glad you came

by”, you say as you gather your sweater

about you in the low afternoon sun 

then wave farewell beneath the tree, buds set

to burst, spring closing another circle.     

I