Here’s a poem I wrote about Molas Lake. I was born and raised in Durango but now live in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Lakeside

In southern Colorado, high among the peaks

from snowy crags an icy wind, stirs ripples on a lake.

The rough and rutted rocky road through aspen trees does wind.

By horse, or foot, or four-wheel drive, the lake is hard to find.

Blue dome sky above the pines, wild flowers underfoot.

Grey squirrels bark at birds on wing, and buzzing bottle flies.

Little Molas is our lake, the one we call our own.

Generations of my kin, around that shore have grown.

Sunny, happy times, with family all around.

Slow warm days of innocence; the memories still abound.

A single tree we cherish most, grows on the distant shore.

For in its roots, in loving grasp, rest two who are no more.

The tree was small when first we chose, that place to bury ashes.

Dad’s favorite place in all the world. His now, to fish forever.

The tree was tall when next we went, more ashes there to take.

Together now, both Mom and Dad, Beside that wild lake.

Through the years I visit, every chance I get. To feel the comfort of that place, and peace beyond description.

When my time comes to leave this world, I’ll rest with happy heart.

In those roots, too, will lie my ashes: Home again, at last, to the earth.

Terry Jones

Las Vegas, Nev.