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Sitka

The morning sun has returned, scattering the clouds, Mt. Edgecumbe
once more revealed in all its magnificence, a backdrop to nature’s
latent power,
witnessed at its base, the deep waters of Sitka Sound, the thick forests
peaking above it,
claiming their own place, bestowing beauty and opportunity
on those who choose to cling to its shores.

The majesty, magic and mystery clings as well, instilling the desire
to look again at what he thought he knew.
Sitka does that,
its rugged isolation and raw splendor, freeing him, inviting him
to take a second look.

Last night it hit him, just how magical, how potent, Sitka’s gift.
It wasn’t just the five of them sitting around the dinner table,
enjoying the good food,
Four young friends and he, the old guy, in lively conversation,
it was as if their families, and their family’s families,
were crowded around the small table as well, elbow to elbow,
chiming in.

For did they not glimpse in each other what their parents,
their heritage, had bestowed? For there they were: the gestures,
the tilt of the head, the kindness, the adventuresome spirit,
the drive for independence, respect for the elderly,
filial love and romance, too.

All were there, speaking through the gathered, out of the past,
imagined now in the moment, a glorious moment in time,
where there is no beginning and no ending,
the continuum of life carrying him on,         See Endnote
beyond issues of comfort and class, wrapped in infinity’s
endless grace.

 

Endnote: Last evening I had dinner with my granddaughter, Nora and her Swiss companion, Favio, at their small, neat apartment overlooking the Sound. Their friends, Alyssa and Peter, joined us for a special dinner, a Keto-inspired lasagne which reflected my interest in pursuing a sugar-free/carb-free diet. No wine or bread either but able to pull it off, nibbling on spicy corn chips instead. it was a delightful time. Peter, native born, benefitted me with his slant on things. I still missed the pasta and bread but not the stuffed feeling afterwards.

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