Shoal Lake

Laura and I stumble down well after dark to sit
on the dock at Shoal Lake.
As the quiet settles around us, we listen to the frogs call the late evening moon
over the trees.

I bring a bag of Ranier cherries and plunk the pits into the black water.
Laura holds a blanket and a sheet.
Together we bring a good night to a close
and memories to the surface.
It was a hard year for me, and I say this more than once.
With so much in mind: Philippines, Thailand, India, Korea, Coaching and our Monday nights.

We talk of men in general and some in specific.
Just as we begin to admit our mutual frustration,
a loon, long and desperate howls out from his hidden nest on the dark shore line.

Laura loves that sound
like I love to see the city lights come on in the evening.

I tell a dumb joke and we break down in fatigued giggles
just for the beauty of laughing uncontrollably again.

You are my ttong-sang and I am your uhnni.
You are golden; you teach me in so many ways.
Your friendship, like a sound or a light reminds me that God is personal.