While I travel down life’s road Country winds call me home. Running barefoot through a sea of grass I would not know what must come to pass.
I must leave the country side, I must find my path To push myself forward To make my own footpath
Country winds call me home While it can be maintained For they do not know my love And they do not know my pain.
-Ron Chapel
I found her before I knew Friendship, laughter, trust bloomed Filling the empty space between I dare not ask the question, What is the truth I feel?
I denied, reflecting in silent intensity Easy it was at first, in the quiet Stillness of the night, my heart and mind met Reminding, to ask it. Ask the question.
What do you feel? In scarce reality my heart broke through In the quiet of the night it had freed itself From the chains of my denial
I could bind it no longer Her smile brought me life Her laughter ignited passion I was haunted by her spirit
I knew the answer, I had asked the question. Courage guide me, hope refined I asked her the same. In her arms, I found my home.
November 18, 1991 I knew better. That’s what I keep telling myself, even now my hand shakes and my mind is filled with pain. I didn’t wait long enough to check on a buck I’ve been hunting for all week. In my excitement, my eagerness, I didn’t wait long enough and now I know, I am dying.
November 19, 1991 Through all my years of experience, I had always given the right amount of time. The deer, hurt, dying, lunged at me with incredible strength. Impaling my stomach and leg. It went to thrash and pulled us both to the ground. I yelled in pain, the deer breathed heavy and died. I knew better and now I know that death is near. I feel colder, weaker. I cannot make it to town. I have no radio or walkie. Though the blood has stopped the injuries to my insides remain. I am dying, I know I am.
November 20, 1991 This will be my last day. Even now my eyes are heavy, my head droops down exhausted. I am tired and I know when I lay down I will not be waking up. To my wife, my boy, my brother. Know I loved you with all I had. Know I am not scared, I am ready. To mom and dad, yes I know you left us many years ago. I will be seeing you soon, at least I hope if our maker is true and just. I’ll thank him for everything. For my family, for the beauty of this earth. In the end, I knew better.
Nov
It was just a rock. Well, then again calling it just a rock is a bit of an understatement. I suppose technically it’s a bolder, though how large it truly is still remains unknown. Dark grey in color, rather unremarkable except it existed on top of the hill. The rock, round and large enough to fit our friend group was the meeting place, base, spaceship and a slue of many other things.
Though I thought the rock remained the same. Time did show me that even it had small imperfections that if went unchecked, caused cracks and small chips of rock to fall off.
We never knew our last meeting was our last. You just assume the gang will meet again there tomorrow like we always did. It wasn’t until years later as our group was splitting up to go to different schools or to simply move away. Only then did I realize that I may not get another chance to see that simple, large, unremarkable stone on the hill.
The path we made traveling back and forth from the rock had grown over. I nearly lost myself if not for one simple rule. Go up the hill. And there it was, silent and sturdy. Remaining still all this time. Our base. Our clubhouse. Our rock.
I stood there next to it, looking over the small details that I had forgotten and the ones I remember. Just like my friends, my family, my school so too did I say goodbye to that rock. Thanking it for existing, for being a part of my life.
I hope one day when I’m older and gray to return there. Climb that hill and show my kid that rock. Tell them stories of when I was younger and the fun we had. For now though, its not a goodbye but a see you later. As I go on it will remain, our rock on the hill.
As winters cold and gray fades Spring green buds and flourish What once was hollow and barren Comes to life with warm breath
The winds of spring carry her name I doubt, deny and then calm understanding The winds of spring carry her name Warm cheeks, beating heart, spring buds bloom.
Spring green life flourish and strong Even after the winds have ceased Understanding and accepting Into summers heat the winds carry
Gone and gone again she lays still in peaceful sleep. Through layers of soft earth to a single large stone to mark her presence in a world that has forgotten.
In youth, in dreadful imagination, I ask myself how things would be without her.
In present day, in present mind that answer lies harshly revealed. Death did not come quick and sudden as it does to many. Death did not run, or jog or walked, it drug it’s feet, crawled and took from her piece by tiny, insignificant piece until nothing of her that was recognizable was left.
And then, unjustly, cruelly, as the last of her was emptied. Only then did death come.
I no longer need to ask myself in sudden despair of the clock strike, asking what life would be if she left.
She is already gone.
