The fog sits low on the lake
In mid-August
Something not visible
In June and July
Cool temperatures
Greet us each morning now
And signal the coming change
Of season from Summer to Fall
A melancholy time to say good-bye
To our cottage on the lake
But I want to linger
Like the fog on the lake
And hide in her elusive, mysterious arms
And not go back
To the noisy, clamoring responsibilities
Of the city
But I see that the fog is moving on
Like me
Slowly, reluctant to leave
Moving over the water, above the trees
And hills beyond
That there is no hiding place here
And like the fog
I must be gone.......