That back to reality early January stretch is upon us with holiday celebrations long gone and "the grind" here to stay. It always happens and it's always a bit of a shock after two weeks of minimal working, maximum wine and an overall leisurely pace to the days. Not only does this poem capture that exact feeling of a vacation ending but it also nicely describes leaving a lake behind, two familiar emotions right now.
Kirsten Dierking
The first few days
we have slow mornings out on the lake,
long afternoons to walk in the woods,
evenings of leisurely innings of baseball
unwinding over the radio.
But time moves faster as the days
of the week accumulate behind us.
Friday passes in a flash of ease,
only now and again it seems the waves
washing on shore have reached an ending.
At dinner I say, tomorrow morning
it's back to real life, you sweep your hand
through the last of the day and say
there's nothing unreal about this.
But the scent of pine is faint on my skin,
as if I had been a wilderness once,
as we merge into traffic, as the lake
falls farther away behind us.
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