Kind, rolling waves of green propel a vivid orange ferry, approaching land. Passengers are carried.
Entering the dock, jagged rocks grey and dull, scuff up against the boat’s barnacles.
Lanes and streets that sit serene with the Erie’s horizon line before them set the scene.
Looking across the lake with a fogless sky, the naked eye sees Sandusky’s biggest rides.
Escaping from technology, without reception here...but then again, I only come once a year.
Yearning to pedal backroad trails beneath the sun to gleam upon the clear water Quarry, and peak over the rails.
Somehow, when lightning strikes the other side of the lake, here on the island, everything shakes.

In the winter, snow piles high, when I was younger, it used to reach my thighs.
Summers feel muggy and humid, not to mention the mosquitos and chiggers, they’re all included.
Leaves come back for spring. They blossom with flowers. Old folks on benches stare for hours.
Autumn’s air is crisp with the midwestern touch, yet the sight of the foliage is seldom too much.
Never failing to impress is Glacier Grooves, prehistoric in age, but the rock is still ever so smooth.
Days are clear and nights boast stars of diamond, there’s just no place quite like Kelleys Island.

Endeavors with the islanders, everyone played in the rain, back in those times, that wasn’t insane.
Running across itchy grass in bare feet, but put on my shoes to play in the park beside the street.
I spent the heat of the day on grandpa Steph’s bee farm, most of the time, they were not of harm.
Entire summers spent working the days away, but the rest of the year, no job occupied my days.