Within the Streams and Fields of Life


She luxuriated in spending

summers at the cottage

her only chore to

keep us

fed …

then we were

free with no set

boundaries …


the space she created between

breakfast and lunch then lunch and

dinner …

she spent lying in the

sun listening to her

leather covered transistor radio on the

concrete pad outside the

back door to the

cottage …


… for me, the empty spaces she

craved were a

blessing …


i roamed freely on my

bicycle …


whenever and

wherever i wanted i

swam in the great

lake …


  i dove into the waves

– rising and falling –

my hands skimming the ridged sandy bottom that

mimicked waves on the surface; 

(more time  under water than on top… 

endless hours submerged …)


the waves fell in soft whispers at night or

crashed against the shore during storms; 

giant white caps with countless fingers that 

pulled themselves toward  shore …  


beckoned me to ride with them if I was strong enough to

pass through and earn the right to 

turn and accompany them to their

ultimate destination –

collapsed onto the wet sand to

make room for the next thundering

heave and the 

next and the

next and the

next …..   


I roamed through the

woods of scrub pine and

sand dunes and milkweed, cat tails or huckleberries that we

searched for and picked from

patches where they grew in colonies toward the

end of summer when you could

smell them in the

air …


we dropped them into tin

pails, took them back,  where he made them into

pies he

baked on the

weekends (when he came up), with so much sugar you could

feel the grains inside your

mouth before they

melted …

we closed our eyes meditating on the

sound of

‘immmmm …


we always asked for

seconds and they were given ..

freely …

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