pilgrimage

happy thanksgiving from 1980!

can you see me? i’m the one smiling.

going home is a bit like peeling back the years, turning me into the child i haven’t been since i left home sixteen years ago. i certainly didn’t think of myself as a child then, but i do now.

tomorrow i’m getting on a plane with my son and his 104 degree fever and we are flying east. right now while the house is dark and my bags are packed, a song plays through my head. one line in particular: “Load the car and write the note. Grab your bag and grab your coat. Tell the ones that need to know. We are headed north.” 

i’m not even sure what i’ll find there. what i expect or can’t believe until i see with my own eyes. the passage of time witnessed with fresh eyes. alot can happen in a year and i think i’ll be surprised by what i find there at the edge of the coast where the wind whips my hair and the sand sticks to my shoes.

i need that space. the space that only the coastline can offer. because when you stand there you can see forever. and all lost hopes and dreams, the should’ve the could’ve, the lost years and memories that continue to slip away… they are at your back. they allow themselves to be set down there in the sand while you step away and catch your breath, when you look out to the sea.

it’s true, i gather strength at the coast.

so, goodbye for now. i’ll be back in about a week, taking my time to shake the sand from our clothes while i process the stories i collected from the edge of the world.

Don’t go. Don’t stay.
Daughter. Morning after afternoon
the last year slips away.

 

Singing all the old songs, you will go
(ambivalence of moon, certainty of sun)
we know

only half of what we are.
The earth is earth to us, star
perhaps

if apprehended far enough away.
Daughter –

 

don’t go.
Don’t stay.

‘To A High School Senior’
by Pat Schneider

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