The road has not been plowed. We park the truck and trek through the snow. The wind has drifted it and the snow is deeper than my LLBeans. It is a cold, white world where the bare trees make black shadows. Below us the lake is a deep, deep blue. It has only a scrim of ice around the edges. The water ripples in the wind. The sun makes a golden road across the water, and around the golden road there are millions of sun diamonds. They glitter and dance with the ripples. Up here it is quiet. So quiet we can hear the memories. When you are surrounded by noise and busyness, you can hardly hear memories.
We remember fishing in the rain. Smoking salmon in the PNW. Steaks in the moonlight. El Caminos. Peterbuilts. Stories in the sugar house. Oranges on Christmas morning. The laughter of many children. Nights in the fur shack. Gallons of coffee. Ash trays, heaped up. 50 years can make a whole lot of memories.
But most of all, we remember you.
remembering.....
ReplyDeleteYes...all we have is the ashes of many many happier times...many many joyful laughs and good times....but ashes do not hurt us...it helps us as we truck through busyness of life like the deep snow...Let us hunch down in the wind and silently wait for moments that are peaceful and lovely. We understand tears...and grief and sorrow but we wait for the morning. Yes..we long for the morning! Love you Anne...my comrade and friend!
ReplyDeleteDeep breath as another has slipped beyond into the place of only memories yet again today. Until morning Vinnie.
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