The Summer That Wasn’t
Wayward raindrops slip off the railing
As I glance over a slate-grey lake
Towards a mist enshrouded island
Locked in a strangle hold of pine and spruce.
In the distance, hills draped in dark clouds
Seem to float in eerie wisps of fog.
My mood descends into darkness
Until I see a lone sailboat drifting along,
White sail brightening this dull landscape,
A sliver of optimism
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