Seneca Lake 

By: Brenda Olsen

The beauty here does not seem aimless

It flows in directions that have been chosen. 

An author that knew exactly where to place it.

An artist that sketched beauty with virgin eyes.

The breezes that drift by on an August day,

The nature of Seneca.

The waters that have an angry temperament

But can ease and soften in a mere moment like

A Father with his infant child

Time drifts by here, uncontained – it melts you into its landscape

Like a seed drifting downward from a high north wind,

A bloom that originated here.

One is no stranger, one is an inhabitant.

The one place that invites you in, beckons you to stay, creates your solace.

Mine eyes reflect this splendor into permanence in my minds eye.

Indelible – never to fade or erase from my memory.

The quiet peace like one once knew in their watery womb,

The outside world only a muffled quiet noise – a coagulation of all your senses.

We return here to safe harbor to relive our exquisite birth in a painless domain.

It is Seneca – It is a gift of life that one shares sparingly like aged Cognac.

Drink to inebriation.