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bathroom trips...
stepping outside of the cabin, bleary-eyed,
to stumble to the bathroom door...
the absolute chill of a bare bottom on the old wooden seat...
the muskiness of damp towels and bathing suits
hanging from hooks all around us, haunting,
until we find the piece of string tied to the pull chain
on a bare bulb above our heads.

Winding our way through the rooms and out the door

to an old grayed wooden deck built upon spindly timbers,
raised high enough to keep us safe in our "house" boat
when the tides rise high and lick at the rough sand beneath our cabin.

And, finally, climbing down the ladder steps
to the beach below our magical summer playhouse,
our tour complete, our peace restored...
finding nothing changed
from the year before and the year before and the year before...

SUMMER FREEDOM

Summer freedom...
all the world centered around the children
who jump the small ocean breakers
and giggle at the antics of the diving gulls...

Summer freedom...
running brown limbs that never tire...
fragile sand castles built with such care...
sand burials - not followed by grief...

Summer freedom...
tanned courageous bodies
throwing themselves upon an ocean wave
that seems ten feet high...
to conquer and ride that wave to shore...

Summer freedom...
early mornings awakening to the foggy light
and the deafening ocean...
arising from bed toward a day
with not a care in the world...

Summer freedom...
late nights...tucked in and snuggled
deep within downy blankets...
the ocean sounds providing
the perfect lull-a-bye...
our parent's voices surrounding us with love...

SAND...Summer's Constant Companion

At day's end, as I climb the ladder steps from beach to cabin deck,
I know my first stop will be the tiny corner shower.
I peel my damp swimsuit off chilled skin
and stand under the warm comforting spray.
The shower floor is sandy, rough on my feet,
like the sandpaper tongue of my kitten when she licks my cheek.

No matter how I try to wash the sand from my body,
there are always a few grains left between my toes and in my hair...
and if it's been a sandcastle day, I even find grains in my ears!
I grab a towel from a hook close by and feel the abrasive grains
within the terrycloth as I dry the water from my skin.
And I know that when I crawl into bed beneath soft cotton sheets,
sand will be my sleep mate.

THE COTTAGE NEXT DOOR

The cottage next door held wonderful things
Spinnakers, kites and butterfly wings!
Beds built like sailboats
And windows galore,
Sparkling, twinkling,
Ceiling to floor.

The cottage next door was shaped like an ark.
I imagined it floating as I lay in the dark.
We'd lift anchor and sail
through the sand and the sea
The cottage, the seagulls
The fishies, and me!

The cottage next door was at the seashore.
Just twenty-five steps through the sand to the shore!
With old wooden decks
and rickety steps.
Oh, can you envision all this and more?

The cottage next door was a great place to play.
A little girl lived there when we came to stay.
I'd awaken each morning
And knock at her door,
And we'd play and have fun
In the sand by the shore!

The cottage next door has a face of it's own.
It has weathered the rains and winds that have blown.
The children are grown now
With broods of their own.
Shall we bring them along
To the cottage next door?

Learn more about this author, Allison Dolan.
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