Larry's Cove

Grass growth in the cove where Larry's boat sat years after Larry’s ash whirled with rocks in space daunts the pickerel: silently galloping glut challenges the channel. Someday soon there may be no seeing through it to the bottom of things. This soft encroachment, a green disease born of fertilized lawns and hangers on from other lakes brought here by alien crafts may arrest fluidity with an embodiment as solid as a moral but as dead as Monday’s church. Will we hear the hard lake crack or will that be Larry’s heart? Fossils Gouged from cliff sides and PA road cuts taught the geologist that all things will pass. But the lover of Maine rain-gauged statistics to say, “Not so fast! “Slow down! Not so fast.” Take heart Larry, and I will strive to join you: your great-grandson Parker loves the land you left for all of us. He is diving into things and spying out hydrilla with a water glass.