1954 ~ Otis Reservoir
There's so much more to every story, every memory, every life. Our stories slip in and out of time and place and fantasy. I wonder here what is unspoken and unseen. What sweeps around these two, my brother and me.
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| My Grandfather, surprisingly fit, with his cigar and his boat... while we, the "little family" cluster together. |
It was
another time, so long ago. I'm seven and my brother, not yet two.
Yet, when I see these pictures, I smell flat water and a faint
whiff of gasoline. I feel the excitement riding in the boat and remember
the deep sheen of mahogany, the splash of water and the wind in our faces.
From
then to now, sixty years have passed. The good, the bad, the tragic.
Some years were rich and full, some long and dark and cold.
But I'm
learning how, in the end, it's never one nor the other. Nothing's all
black, nor all fine and shiny -- it's the mix, the big stew of Life --
the good, the bad, the dull. And for all the pain, there is also
joy, small bright spots of light.
And, for
all I know (or think I know), there is still my unfinished story, full of mysteries and
things to come, unseen, unknown, unspoken.
