Monday, May 7, 2012
Of Lilacs and Granite
Oh, the clear granite strewn brooks and rivers! You can always see to the bottom, you can see the little native brook trout darting along, and under shady half hidden boulders the big lunkers are hanging around, thinking they can't be seen. I have lain on the banks and hung my head over , and spotted the greenish, silvery glint of their fat sides in the sunshine. In the shallow places the cold clear water spills exhuberantly over the rocks, laughing to itself, swirling and foaming inviting you in on a hot bright day. Take off your shoes, then, and wade gingerly in, for it still has the iciness of snowy ridges and the tang of granite mountain tops. It a glorious feeling to skim over the stones and get to the other side. Warm your cold feet in the sun warmed grass, where the violets grow and the little toads hop.
Memorial Day parades, we have them here, every town, little or big. The old soldiers and the boy scouts, and the band and the babies in strollers, they all march to the cemetery. Speeches are made, the Roll Call is read, a salute is fired, with all the mothers covering the babies ears, and small chhildren yelling, the bouquet of lilacs is thrown in the pond, to remember those lost at sea, and taps are played, and echoed through the woods. Afterward we drift through the old graves, so many flying our countrys flag. Carved granite, so weathered and worn we can't read them anymore,mossy and ancient, and starkley beautiful in the spring sunshine. Who were they all, this large company of brave folks who did what they had to do? Oh, don't lets ever forget!