It is that time again kiddos. Break out the bongos, snap those fingers. Old Mission Pennisula is one of the coolest places on earth and is one I have visited often. This poem I wrote a zillion years ago and tries to capture a broad picture of the place. It falls short, as so often words will do. But! I am working on that and refining that skill to someday, hopefully be able to capture the magic of places like this.
Honey bees dart between cherry blossoms,
as a cool breeze blows off the lake
with the morning sun trailing behind;
ancient elms trace long shadows of the past.
The clear blue water portrays still life
portraits of the meandering shoreline;
each pebble and stone, an etched history
of the days before man walked here.
A broken shell from the pioneer days
is the only remnant of the mission church,
where brave men brought their message,
leaving their homeland for the new world.
Even the lighthouse at the peninsula's point
has become a relic of long forgotten days,
when severe Michigan storms threw sail boats
against the dangerous limestone reefs.
Orchards and mansions fill the country side
with modern technology and civilization.
This too will pass in the currents of time,
leaving memories and museums of the present.