Acres of misty forest
Are suddenly disrupted
By mossy speckles of stone
That grow closer together and more numerous,
The deeper we travel into the dense woodlands… Miles of rocky marsh are crossed over and the trees dwindle away
before daylight reveals a paved path
leading right up the the lookout tower
of ClearWater Pond Fortress.
I’ve never knocked on the door, even once; I like to go around back, to the old pergola that leans like an old, drunk
River Daddy should…
That’s my favorite place to sit and draw,
Listening to the Mollywogs croaking their
Cat-calls in the cattails,
And the crickets doing soundchecks
And me, feeling pretty blessed to be part of this creative atmosphere.
Is a Fortress, it’s true… where we are made
To feel happy, and strong.