Poetry: Winter Spring Water


Sitting on a bench
beside this small lake
on a warm, sunny
winter March day,
in Texas, not yet Spring,
but it feels good.

A golf course
on the opposite side,
with carts silently
moving, following, stopping,
going nowhere
to find a ball.
Golfers swing clubs,
ride to find balls.
Some call it exercise.
I gave it up
in college. No
regrets.

What is it
about the water
that calms me
and I want to
write a poem
about feeling
peaceful, calm,
listening without
hearing brave birds?

Soon it will be
Spring, and
I’ll return here,
to find calm.
A nice day, this,
in many ways.


Look both ways around the water.
There’s the natural and the not.
Mind the gaps where golfers lose their balls.