The foliage along the lake banks is summer-full.
Dragonflies flit above it in dizzying swoops.
The ducks have taken their young to larger quarters
where fewer humans come. So, except for wee frogs,
which leap into the water in alarm as I walk its banks,
the shaded lake is quiet, stirred only by a slight breeze.
I had just finished my walk around its edges
when a shaft of sunlight from a parting cloud
drew my eye. Turning, I saw at the lakes’ corner
the stand of wild iris, looking like an installation
by Chihuly, lit as if some spotlight were
resting purposefully on its lines and casting
its colors across the still waters. And only I
and the frogs and dragonflies were there to see.
It made me feel humble somehow.
And blessed, and glad.