Mon 2 May 2011
Those are pearls that were his eyes:
Nothing of him that doth fade
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
– Shakespeare, ‘The Tempest’
just before sunset on the last day of April, the day the lobster traps go out.
this is Dave’s beach, his father’s beach before him. the water is cold. there are mountains on the other side of the shore.
this is where we brought him, the last place. his birthright.
we laid our palms in the water and the last of his ashes drifted into the tide that has taken generations before him to sea. six years to the day.
it is done. and it is good. at the end of the sea change…peace. for each of us in our way. in the end, we are all of us only dust to dust, stones skipping on the water. what remains, six years later, is only love.
(waking today to this day of portents, i hope for sea changes all around, for less fear, for peace. i sit quiet and solemn, and hope for something rich and strange to come.)