Archive
09/23/11 - (2)
Village History
Back, again, in Lake Nebagamon's Lawn Beach Inn, After a twelve-month absence, Facing the familiar expanse of lake nestling this restaurant, I breathe in slowly, deeply, grateful just for being here Yet uncertain as to where the year disappeared, Aghast at how insistently it passed into the past, Since last I celebrated the incipience of fall, here, Raised a toast to this quixotic season of heat and freeze, All the while, tonight, wondering what my future knows.
Meals spent alone can engender the most intimate dialogues. This one fills me with a palpitant sense of belonging, No matter that this crowd of regular diners, Creating their own revelried give-and-take, can't name me. Indeed, the very pervasiveness of this din Enables me to confide in the silence inside my silence. This Friday evening, I can hear the village's history, All of its gone and resident spirits whispering, to me, That even when I leave, they'll never let me leave.
09/23/11 - (2)
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