Friday, November 16, 2007

lucky


The solitary pier at the water's edge in Landskrona, Sweden. (2007).

This morning, I picture two scenes, both of which I suspect to be more or less true:

One
Fifty years later, an old man is standing alone at the end of the pier, looking over the indigo waters. An ocean breeze stirs the stinging saltiness of the air. He closes his eyes to remember a lifetime of memories disappeared ... before slowly opening them again, to feel the vanishing tones of twilight.

Two
Fifty years later, an old man is standing alone at the end of the pier, looking over the indigo waters. An ocean breeze stirs the stinging saltiness of the air. He closes his eyes to forget a lifetime of events reappeared ... before slowly opening them again, to feel the vanishing tones of twilight.

***
Tributary-to-sea and all in-between, it doesn't seem to take much to veer this river to the wrong side of the continental divide. And despite doing everything we can with these chances we take - these breaks we make - to some extent, it's still left to the random whisper of four-leaf clovers.

Hope, faith, luck, and love.

I'll be waiting at the water's edge.

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