(forty-six years later)
Waves so clear come splashing
shoreward where bare volcanic
Bubbles rise above green of spruce
looking so western even though
they couldn’t be farther east.
Perhaps these hills will always be
for me an anchor deep in time
just a year before I left the East
to live in Colorado where mountain
lakes reflect those memories of old
Acadia, seen through green of pine,
rippling forever into depths of mind.
By Richard F. Fleck