Achy-Lake-y Michigan scent at the grama-grampa house

lake Michigan scent lingered

in the grama --grampa house

you could smell the beach

and the sun and sand

in their basement

and in your clothes 

when you went home

little Molly could still smell it

in her beepee

her softie nighttime cuddle

so she put it in a Ziploc

to store and savor 

when she came home 

from the grama-grampa house 

till she went again

it smelled of sun-toasty sand

lake water with algae

of driftwood campfire smoke

with notes of pine and hemlock and fir

from the woodsy back dunes

it was happy with a little wistful

joy mixed in with some sorrow

evergreen sweet and spicy

with a hint of salt and pepper

like tears that won't fall and sting your eyes

a good kind of hurt

yearning heart hurt

from loving too much

and missing it even when it was right there

Lake smell was best at bedtime 

in the room and walls and blankets

smiley-quiet, not going anywhere

like a mommy and daddy

hugging and wishing me goodnight

I liked the hear of the lake too 

as she sang me to sleep

with her purring and growling

splashing and hissing

soft yet endlessly tameless

rocking me in her perfume

the grama-grampa house was 

the only place I ever smelled

this wildy, salty, piney

sunny, dear, sad-sweet

achy-lakey Michigan scent 

now the house doesn't smell the same

because the grama and grampa are gone

and they took it with them

to their new home where I can't visit

and finally the tears start to fall...

Selah

Dune days and forest moods

in high noon dune

blue jay joy

sings praise to pines

as cheery fir frogs 

creak croak their lament

at waterside, brave waves rave

across bleach white beach

as bathers on striped blankets

repose in sunny-sun sand

and gulls queue for stale snacks

at gathering dusk dune

muffled dryer lint fog fluff

creep-sneaks in 

shadowing jewel-bright surf and 

shooing off bathers and greedy gulls

turning berry blue sky

to charcoal smudged cloud

gull formations dot empty beach

as cardinal kiss calls goodnight 

and bats fly their evening maneuvers

in deep dark dune

owls shush hush hoot

on slow dancing trees

and flowers fold themselves

into twilight slumber asanas

as sharp pepper pine

scents sklish, swish wind

and the moon makes her entrance

with her usual flair

curtain calling today's wonder wander

so poet wanderer

dog ear's her notebook page

zipping hoodie against chill

wends her way homeward

Dreaming of new beach day

Misty moisty Michigan walks

 (preface another ode to my childhood Lake Michigan beach walks with grampa. I write a lot about him and grama Kinney. I miss them a lot. Side note: the word uffy in stanza 3 means softy. As in "pink uffy" Emma's blanket)

misty moisty Michigan days

are the best ones for walking

with grampa and the dogs

to the beach in the woods

sunny days are nice too

but grey rainy are even better

soft days my dad called them

its a good word

drizzly clouds make things look

fuzzy and comfy and cozy

i want to wrap up in clouds

like an uffy blanket

its quiet so you can hear

bugs and birds and rustley leaves

and furry, fluffy wind

makes sklishy waves and creaky trees

you can talk if you want 

but you don't have to

on a moisty misty walk

and probably shouldn't 

the big lake woods 

are like a church

and we don't talk in church

if grama is there anyway

on soft beach days

nothing bad exists

no school or work or mean

just happy with a little sad

but it's good blue sad

not mad red sad

sad that helps not hurts, or not too much

sad that time and people pass

grampa and grama are not here

but they're not gone

they still live in the red brick house

and we still walk the lake

in my heart. 

Big Lake lost on Sunday

Sunday was the best day to walk

to the Big Lake Michigan

with grampa and the fat poodle Pierre

and the neighbor's German shepherd Duke

that grama called a police dog

On Sunday we could not do anything

grama and grampa were Dutch reformed 

so we couldn't watch TV or cook 

I could walk with grampa in the woods

But that wasn't why I liked Sunday lake days best

I didn't like Sunday because it was boring

But I did like being at the lake which was not boring

Sunday was best because it felt like it would never end 

you could get lost in the woods for always

I told grampa I wanted to live there forever

in a little hut I'd imagined I'd make

I'd live on chewing gum wintergreen berries 

and make pancakes from acorns

Grampa said I'd soon get sick of it and come home

it was nice to think of grama who never lake walked 

waiting at home with the lazy dog

who had given up and braunschweiger sandwiches 

But I haven't forgotten my Lake Michigan 

back dune woods mind fort

made of beach grass and driftwood

like African kids' cozy hut homes

in my Grama L's Childcraft books

My grandson Milo felt quite the same thing

when we went Sunday walkabout at Lake Michigan

We agreed we'd like to live there for always

in the big sand dunes with tall beach grass

in a cantonment we'd make for ourselves

and sister Juno of sand-scrubbed sticks

tied together with maram grass

dining on berries and nuts and such

I am very sure that my mind fort of 5

is the same one 5-year-old he sees too

If only there was the grama grampa house

with sandwiches and them waiting for us

I'm the grama now, making sandwiches

at the Omi-Opi house for after walk Sundays

I see the old treasured faces in now people loved

I meet grama and grampa in them, again

such is the circle unbroken.

Selah

(love, Omi Sachteleben)