When I was a boy, from ages 7-10, I spent my summers at my great-uncle Andy's boys camp on Lake Ossipee, in New Hampshire. As an adult, I would visit my uncle Jack and aunt Jane at their cottage on the other part of the lake (it was Jane's family's cottage; they had met when Jack canoed past one day, a counselor with some young campers,and spotted her on the shore.) For a few years I would always manage to visit in early September, when the lake was quiet, the nights were cool, and the pine needles were thick on the ground.
OSSIPEE LAKE HAIKU
Pine needles fallen
Soft scent of past beneath my
Stepping silently home
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