Ely Street Poet: It’s a feeling, I can’t explain it

Saturday is for getting up early and starting a kindling fire in the fire ring and pulling the Adirondack chair your daughter made in shop class up close while you read a book and drink coffee.

Saturday is for cooking Zup’s sausage and Polish Delights over said fire. Saturday morning is for finding a couple of old fishing decoys and a top water lure at a garage sale. It is for looking at the lawn and the mower but leaving them both to their own devices.

Saturday morning is sitting under the crabapple tree that has another dead branch and wondering how long this tree that has been here since everyone was so small; wondering how long it will be until all of its branches die.