Up at the Cottage

A little poem I found in my notebook about my favourite place in the world.

Up at the Cottage

I guess it just comes with
The time of year,
That’s why they call it,
Seasonal insomnia

Nights of black skies
Dotted with ten thousand stars,
The mountains are peaceful,
The lake breathing slowly
As I lay pajama’d in the sand,

That warm smell of wood smoke,
And sixty mosquito bites,
Paired with roasted marshmallows,
And distant laughing
Could only mean one thing,
That we’re back,

And it’s here.
Sleep is time we could have
Spent having an adventure.

I guess it just comes with
The time of year,
That’s why they call it,
Seasonal insomnia.