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Hardwood Point
foggy summer day blessed by persistent drizzle we embarked down the narrow and rutted dirt road finally coming to a halt near a withered crabapple tree alone it stood like some aging sentinel left to watch over another era I followed a trail of wild berries until I spied a tiny cemetery tucked into the woods I roamed amongst the stones finally stumbling upon the memorial for my grandmother I envisioned her simple cottage under the apple tree the children at her skirts while she tended to her chores He is out to sea again the burden is all hers the fog closed in around me carried me back I understood her isolation I wondered did the rain on her roof at night comfort her or only amplify her loneliness? Ramsdell's Cove
on a bright August day: glittering rays reflecting off cobalt waters- splinters of summer sun. I sat on the shore in total stillness, alone but for my thoughts of solitude, out here where few men wander. So still, I could hear the blueberries ripening in the field behind… quiet enough to hear the ancient pines whisper. A fickle wind slid onshore pushing before it a wispy fog bank. I watched the fog tiptoe into the cove enveloping all in timelessness. Gentle fog? Deceptive fog- mollifying even the sun, now a powerless, hazy orb, its softened light scattered aimlessly. Then a subtle stirring of oars in water and the silhouette of a schooner that had crept onto the scene. Suddenly, a fleet of phantom ships, a ghostly brigade, tall and proud shrouded in the guileful fog. Around me, the muffled voices of seafaring men, the rattle of chains, the rip of ropes yanked against rusted moorings. An ancient ship pulled alongside a well-worn pier. Her crew unloaded precious cargo passing barrels from man to man. The shuffle of boots on a creaking deck… bent backs and knarled hands - they worked, oblivious to me, spectator, time traveler, until their wares were piled high on the weathered planking. And, as silently as they had come, they departed, gray sails billowing, sliding deftly from the sheltered cove. With them went the vagrant fog leaving behind a glowing August day and the echoes of a different century. Robin Berard, © 2003 Full Circle
And if you could, would you grasp it in your hand forever, and never, let it fly away? Once there was a child, cherished, blessed; she grew into a woman, distant, unrecognizable. How now to return? Deep within lies the essence of the girl, spirited, joyful; the years hide her soul, like rings on a tree. She searches for the child within, searching , for the path that leads back, full circle. Robin Berard, © 2003 Sister at your heels like a lost puppy wanting you to notice me. You'd blow in like a summer breeze, ripe with some new success, and stay long enough to steal my heart all over again. I am just your little sister. Life was a grand experiment - you lived in a different world that had no boundaries while I remained behind imagining I could one day be like you. I am just your little sister who wanted you to love her. I planned to follow you forever even though I wasn't sure I'd keep up. But you left and never looked back to see me trailing behind. I am just your little sister for all eternity. You achieved the ultimate one-up, for how can I ever compare to one who is gone? And how will you ever know that I was up to the challenge? I am just your little sister who wanted to share our lives, our dreams. Now I am graying - my heart is weary. I've had to do it all without you. To this day, more than anything, I need you here, with me. I am not just your little sister, I am a woman alone. Why didn't you stay? |
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