Camp Lourdes

It is the rain
Drumming on the aluminum roofs
In the warmth of a summer storm
That are memories of summer camp
Echoing in the maze of memory.

For the first time I walked
The miles along the railroad tracks
Running close behind the camp
Perched on a sandy spit
Up against the shoulder of the
Mountain slope leaning close
Towards the lake.
I still feel the trembling of the ground
As the train rumbled past
In daytime or in night's late hours
The smell of the tar coated ties
Weighing on the hot summer air
The heat radiating off the steel ties
As around the corner the train
Would suddenly appear to thunder  by
Into the passing distance.

Much of my life ran through
This little piece of paradise
The threads of my future
Entwining in the web that is my life still
Filled with the light reflecting off the sunlit waters
Or the moonlight a beckoning path
Cutting through the silent darkness
After the leaves that sang with the
Breezes blowing off the afternoon lake
Fell quiet for the night.

There were sorrows too
Youthful dreams that wandered
Dangerously towards the shadows
The bitter truth of human failings
Especially my own
But it is the quiet
Inside the small wooden
Clapboard chapel
With the hiss of the propane lamps
Illuminating with beauty
The eternal drama of salvation
That  urged and fed the youthful soul.
The old wooden launch plied
The waters between
Shores busy and quiet
Those seven years that took
My youth in stride.

One final night the campfire
Sending sparks and our voices
Up into the night sky
Grew cold as dawn's fingers
Crept over the morning horizon
As we sat huddled in the cool morning air
Aware we were saying goodbye
To a privileged time.
I have more memories to mine one day
Now that the camp is gone
I see it on the shore from a distance
Now a stranger's summer property
But I still hear childrens voices
Echo where time has taken its rest.