Archive
03/15/10 - (5)
Tarnished Penny
I'm trudging through slush, this Monday, on my twilight hike. The snow in the boys' camp has been melting, Dissipating, evaporating, draining into rivulets, creeks, streams, Running, rushing headlong, into the woods, lakeward, With the lusty, full-throated flute notes of a hermit thrush Singing its sweetly-sweetly-sweetly song of imminent spring.
Suddenly, I reach the Council Ring, Fortuitously find, from the past summer, Three quarters and a single cent Resting, innocuously, on one of the wooden benches, As if they'd just slipped out of the jeans pocket Of a staff member shepherding his cabin group, At the last Sunday-night Council fire — I an avid, superstitious worshiper of lucky pennies, Believing that adventitious coppers Possess the power to reshape my destiny, Bring me to a new stage of awareness, existence, From which I might gain a deeper understanding Of life breaking away, unannounced, to undisclosed places, Where I might experience innocence, wonderment, awe.
I'm going to leave the three two-bit pieces To shiver in this empty, echoing outdoor sanctuary, Trusting they'll meet up with their owner, In another three months or so, When the boys of Camp Nebagamon, Adolescents begging to be shown nature's glorious kingdoms, Return to this enchanted, pine-scented rite-of-passage realm, To resume their journeys toward their inner selves, As, fifty (almost sixty) summers ago, I did.
I pocket the tarnished penny, set back off, on my trek. My life hasn't the time or the luxury to tarry. After all, if I'm to spend this lone cent On admission to this evening's sunset, at Lorber Point, I'd better get a move on.
03/15/10 - (5)
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