At Little Dyke Lake

Nighttime is full of creepy
night crawlers, fireflies blinking
ghostly lanterns, the
lakeshore silent as deer

a realm of bullfrogs
burping across the calm
trout splashing on the surface.

Loons linger with calls.

Draped within a blanket by
the campfire, my son tumbling
through dreams
Polaris brighter than usual,
our canoe by a maple.

Once I was that little boy.

© Richard L. Provencher