My Inner Bank

Pleasant memories restore our souls.

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My Inner Bank


The sweet sounds of music hum in my soul.
For a moment I forget all my Earthly goals,
the heavy challenges of a normal day,
as I lose myself along melody's way.

The moon, a rounded eye, peers down.
The light of its beam casts a silver crown,
splices boats into numerous sections
across the lake water's rippled reflections.

A solitary fish jumps out of its bed,
dives back down leaving a single thread,
a ripple that travels across the lagoon,
and shimmers beside the low-lying moon.

An old barn owl is perched high in a limb
I can barely see him; the light is so dim
in the velvet shadows of needled pines,
but I hear his hoots, spy his eye-shine.

I watch him, urge on his ascent into sky,
but like me he rests, is reluctant to fly.
His repeated cries form a melody of night.
Who am I to protest his refusal of flight?

My music has stopped; my break is finished,
but contentment is not the least diminished
for I have made a deposit to my inner bank,
of the splendorous beauty I saw and drank.


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