Lake Wenatchee by myself

Cold, icy water
Rippling around me
Smooth, soft pebbles
Under my feet.

Kids yelling,
Grown-ups talking,
Pleading to go out
To Emerald Island.

The plush, warm, sand
Coming down to the water
Where it is blanketed by rocks
That get mossier as they go deeper.

Happy, excited,
Being with my friends,
We want to go off,
To build a fort of driftwood.