The sun is high in the sky when I awake. A summer sun that leaves you aching for days on the lake, houseboating, cabins, and beaches. I arise with tanned skin from my days vacationing here. Sylvan Lake is a wonderful little place in Alberta. It’s a place that crawls with locals and tourists when the sun first hits it and warms the temperature to a toasty twenty-six degrees celsius in June. The hotter it becomes the more people who roam here. They sit on the grass by the lake, young people in bikini’s and boarder shorts. Also, families with little kids running around and eating the famous ice cream. It melts down their bare torsos in rivulets of color, whatever crazy flavour the kid chose– tiger or bubblegum maybe.
I am neither those young people anymore, nor am I a family. I am somewhere in-between. Young but not college age anymore. I came with a couple of friends and we haven’t been here in years, since those days of campus shenanigans. We are lying on towels on the grass and the sun beats down on us, thirty-five degrees celsius. It’s a hot one today. My pale skin is red from the rays that beat down on me. I never notice sunburn until it is too late. But at least I noticed soon enough that I won’t have blisters or second degree burns such as I had as an eight-year–old in the Okanogan.
I put on my shirt so my shoulders won’t burn anymore and walk out into the lake water which is lukewarm. I walk until my hair goes under. Then I float gently in the water as the sun hits the afternoon crowd with its rays. Kids are floating on little rafts and blow up crocodiles. I hate the lake but it is a balm to my sun burn. I hate the things that live beneath its watery veil. The fish and God knows what else.
I’m out pretty far out in the lake when something pulls on my leg. I swim towards shore but the thing keeps pulling at me. I am closer to shore and swimming faster than I’ve ever swum. My skins aches from the burn of the sun underneath my t-shirt. Then I’m pulled under the water, again, and again. I’m yelling and screaming, but my friends just wave. They cannot hear me. And then I’m pulled down to the depths of the lake. I’ll never see the sun again, the water was my fate.
A note: The prompt is to do visual poetry such as in a shape or some sort of form. I had this before as a prompt in the Writing 201 Poetry course and I hate it! If there was a way I could do it on here perhaps I wouldn’t hate it as much. But there isn’t a way so and I don’t have time to color you a poem today on paper and take a picture. So the way I am going to be visual is with my words.
“At this Moment”
The blowing of the tall green grass gasping and growing in the air as it glows in the sunshine apt for yellow rays of bright burning rays and crystal white puffs of clouds trailing beyond the horizon and floating in blueness and newness of the cool breathtaking magnetic sky.
I am waiting in my living room dark red furniture with lines of yellow and brown cushions with a lighter brown, reddish brown, orangey red, and maroon brown; sitting on the couch it’s cushy and am writing.
The computer hums softly with the electronic stillness of air going through technology in a soft silent and repeating noise.
I am waiting for the guise of flowers now dying in sick green water, white perfect roses withered and bright almost neon green leaves dying; all that’s living is the proud white lily as she sticks her triumphant petals in the air and inner orange brightness shines as the sun.
She stinks but not one would kill her for her smell she is only one and a vision in the lines and pale pastel brown paint that covers this house.
And I zoom back out to the sunshine knowing I’ll be travelling in it and I am warmed by the air that blows my bright blond head back in anticipation, that automation of the trees and their leaves as they are all pine and the coniferous trees have yet to burst into bloom.
I sit and I wonder of the clouds and the cars moving slowly past the this deserted street and I am in awe of a beautiful day.