And so am I, full with the imprints of time and memory. I am rich in soul, yet I’m hungry for more. It’s not a feast I want, I keep my appetite for all things in moderation, but I want what singer Sam Garrett wants, “More life, more blessings; more peace, more unity.” It’s easy to find in the solitude I am offered here at a cabin in the north, but peace and unity exist on flimsy ground, like whisps of smoke dispersing at the slightest wind.
Through the years, I’ve discovered ghosts here in the souls of people whose ashes have been spread on the lake shore. By here, I mean “The Old-Style Place,” a cabin that has been in the family for 50 years. Rustic, well-built, no running water, no bathroom, just an outhouse. Honoring the remnants of life’s past is part of my yearly visit here, just as it was for those who left their relatives on the shore.
In the Spring, one chore involves cleaning the outhouse; this means removing snake skins, sweeping away mounds of spider webs, and mopping up dust. Many people would not like this place. Tonight, I note the silence and half full Buck Moon, a cipher in the sky hiding behind branches of the large pines.
Imprints remain from those who sat on the dock while watching the western sun set over the lake. Many of them have passed on: my parents, a childhood friend, an uncle, a few aunts, grandparents, and other friends and family.
They’re all here.… read more...
