Red Cottage Days

Simple –
The country town store, its smoke-smelling wood,
And my father buying groceries there,
Then putting them in the car, driving through wood,
The stillness embracing cool morning air,
Crisscrossing beams under some sort of spell,
Shadows concentrated in a trance-like stare,
The path with a pebble-crunching tale to tell,
Building up our anticipation, excitement,
The red cottage hedge glittering a smile,
And tall oak, to the effect it’s been a while…
Sometimes we would have a barbecue soon,
Then some hours later go fishing,
Once twilight had shed its cocoon,
And the lake had ceased its restless wishing,
Our boat slicing through quietness, rocks and stone
In the water slowly disappearing
Into meditation, becoming more intensely alone.
We would often ride the car to town
Once the night forgot itself in fireflies –
Ride to the auction house filled with smoke and beer.
He liked antique furniture. Our relationship was clear.
It was simple, direct, honest, and deep.
My strivings were unborn, his half-asleep.
He still had hopes for his dreams at forty five.
My thoughts were no busy bees yet, I had no hive.
Simple words and silences fluttered about us,
And no thoughts, no beliefs as yet divided us.

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