Fishbowl Poem by Preston Simmons

We go to the place
Where the sun touches the red cliffs
And turns the clouds into
A flaming lantern.
The water,
Smooth or choppy
Always has encompassing warmth
And begs residents to immerse themselves
With her glassy or kaleidoscopic face.

There are
rocks carved by God's own tears
Which stand as a proud shelter to us.
Sometimes the scenery seems to be painted
As if Da Vinci himself visited the far corners of Lake Powell
And created a masterpiece
For the human eyes.

This is a red rocked fishbowl
That is a destination to species
Of every kind.
However,
Each year isn't experienced without tragedy.
This year,
A small toy boat was launched without warning
And caused an injury to my mother.
She is the person
On whom We all rely.
But she is fine,
And she is healing.
Our trip has gone well,
With memories secured in our minds.
We have all enjoyed
Gliding across the water
On a wakeboard, slalom ski, kneeboard or wake-skate,
And some of us
Have ascended above the lake
By way of carved rocks
To see our friends and family below.

It might just be
The luck of placement
Because this lake is placed in the perfect area.
At times the weather
And the water
Work against us,
But we pay it no attention.
It's the people that make places perfect
And the memories created within.