I don’t remember which day I witnessed all of that gold.
Perhaps when I was small and held her hand.
We’d have walked through the park. Sun bursting yellow-orange, yellow-gold through the leaves as she lifted me onto the green dog statue. Eleanor waited, smiling there. Shy, innocent cheeses for Mom and Dad back home. We watched the brown bears stretch on the far side of their watery fence. Made our way to the garden then to feed the ducks. Remember how fascinated we were when one of them laid a huge white the egg under the oak tree?
Perhaps the trees were alight with gold on that particular day.
I really cannot say.
Or when you were just a boy and your little hand held mine.
Somewhere along the winding way to Sturbridge. Pomfret, cider, dappled light and tree lined streets. You up there, high in the trees tossing the ripe, red apples down, across, hither and yon to Dad and I below.
Further on, the historic village.
‘Rock. Rock. Rock.’
The old man driver called to his Draft horse pulling our wagon. Enormous, obedient equine. His name was truly ‘Rock’. And his coat, a shiny, dappled gray. We three rocking gently, side by side, to an ancient rhythm along an olden, dusty path. In costume, behind the rope, the blacksmith molds and shapes the red hot iron into a horseshoe.
Again, we walk. L.L. Bean red backpack picnic. Tuna, chips, apples galore up on the piney knoll. Was it off in the distance, beyond the lower forty, sun glint leaves sparkling brilliantly?
Was it on that treasured day?
I really cannot say.
My memory wants to sway to days much like today. I might have been in love with this or that or so and so,
but surely in a very large way.
And my chosen target loved me back long before we knew
the words we chose to say.
Together we spun webs. Stories to be told.
Threw them yonder, far and wide. From leaf to leaf, sparkling strands of gold.
Priceless, ageless. Never, ever growing old.
Is it the reminiscence of such days?
I really, truly cannot say.
I don’t remember precisely
but I’ve been with you, right here
witnessing a dazzling light,
all of this gold, my Dear
A golden November
such as the one
we have this odd, even year.
#gold #november #naturegeography #reminisce #leave