Eddie
Toward the end of today's late-morning walk,
Going down the steep hill, to the municipal beach,
Past the closed-for-the-season Dairy Queen, on my left,
The quiet red-log auditorium, on my right,
I'm lost in thoughts of maintaining this trance indefinitely.
Suddenly, a voice calls out "L.D? L.D., is that you?
Yes, yes, I recognize you, after all these years!
But I can't really believe I'm seeing you!"
It's my Camp Nebagamon cabin counselor from 1954 —
Eddie Drolson, from my summer in Axeman 5 —
A kind man, now approaching eighty,
Who helped set my moral compass when I was thirteen,
Glad to find me back in my old clime.
He hugs me; I return his hug, his "I love you."
We briefly reprise fifty-five-year-old memories.
He asks what I'm doing in this neck of the North Woods.
I reply that I've been returning, often, to the village,
To write about this land,
Hoping to get a fundamental understanding of who I am,
In relation to who I've been and who I'll be.
Just before I resume my walk, head up the steep hill,
We hug again, smile at each other, say good-bye.
All the way to camp's waterfront gate and back to my cabin,
Eddie walks beside me, repeating his favorite aphorism:
"Life is too short to be little."
09/25/09 - (4)
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