The St. Clair flowed
Towards Erie,
As we walked to
The headwaters,
Where Huron emptied
So seemingly endless.

On Sunday drives
I never noticed signposts
Flying by.

On the court, Love,
I crouched, amazed,
At your service game,
Never ready for
The backhand.

Idle times lead
The girls to womanhood.
I'm left with celebrations
On celluloid,
And digital grasps
And loosening fingers.