For those of you who are following this blog you will have guessed that Sarah Whiton Lawson is Claire Whiton's great granddaughter, my father Pete's granddaughter, Molly Whiton's daughter, Hannah Lawson's mother, and my hero and niece. She is my pal and has been for 34 years now. I spent an awful week of my life convinced that I was going crazy and that I would never be able to pull out of it and Sarah, who at the time was 11 stayed with me. When I look back I think I shouldn't have let her come, but both her parents were working and it was summer and I thought I would be ok. My brother and sister in law had plans to go to Nova Scotia with Sarah at the end of the week. They drove up to us, packed my bag, too, put us both in the car and I slept for the first time all the way to the Canadian border, safe with my big brother's family. She and I had a great little vacation. Sarah and I have always gotten each other. She is special. Yup, she is my pal. I love her thisssssss much.
I've had a hard time with pictures today. I didn't take a lot. I didn't go out much. I've stayed home and tried to regenerate a little. I definitely hit a wall this week and needed regeneration. So I watered the plants, napped, did laundry, napped.... you get the idea. But it means I don't have much to show. I'm going to put two more pictures up and a poem and that will be my 12th or Day 71.
Evening Before the Storm
4:15 pm
There are 2 loons close to the sand’s edge
bobbing for food.
High pitches of gulls, sand pipers and crickets
dominate.
Slow short sounds of an almost still ocean follow.
Plovers glide in front of me.
Sea-ducks soar out then in.
Gulls flock over jumping fish,
a small craft chases those
birds from the fish’s skirmish.
Again gulls land together,
stay still and the fishing boat
moves closer.
The water ripples move further from shore.
Birds fooling man,
fish swimming on.
2 fishermen stand on shore.
Cast their long sea poles
out in soft mild water.
Ducks and plovers move away.
The boat tries again to claim
a piece of the catch
Now they all fly by me.
A loon fights with something further out.
I can barely see his black and white wings
as they flutter a top and then below.
What is quiet and calm
above water
masks the world below.
In preparation for the storm
everything moves towards a neutral place,
color, sound.
And the hollow call of the loon;
not the wailing,
the sound like a tom- tom.
6:30
The sunlight begins to disappear.
Adolescent gulls sit high on
the hotel roof. Small fish
jump out right at the water’s edge.
High-pitched KIA KIA KIA
and CAH unlike anything else.
What are they yelling about?
Are they telling those adolescents to go find shelter?
“The storm is coming.”
Lights are beginning to shine across the bay.
Loons are gone. Only white gulls
with grey wings on grey blue water and
a small pink orange sun
falling behind Falmouth
remain.
8:00
It is dark black out.
Clouds hide the moon and stars.
It isn’t very cold and the
noises are crickets. Loud
crickets close by
crickets far away.
They answer each other, CLICK CLICK
No birds, no ocean sounds
nor people noises left.
A leaf blows by me.
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