Jamestown

Just when you think you really know a place because you’ve known it your entire life, along comes a scraggly, forgotten fruit tree in bloom.
I crossed the bridge Tuesday morning on a time travel. Perchance to find a bit or piece of myself kicking a stone along the dirt on Ledge Road. Sisters and brothers perhaps flanking my sides, shoving shoulders, picking blueberries, sticking out purple tongues. Sharing giggles. Deep blue laughter and love.

I actually found myself – ourselves there. I always do. Oh, it has changed but not by much. Or maybe that’s my perception. The willing of my childhood island to stay forever young.

The thunderstorms of early morning lingered, changing the sky from dark to light, shade to sun, rain to dry.
As I passed the old Schlubach place on Wolcott Ave. I couldn’t help but notice a fruit tree coming into bloom.
Old, twiggy, moss ridden, it captured my curiosity. I had a go at it with my camera. Found myself climbing up the stone wall, laying on my back to view the miracle unfold before me. Enraptured by this minimal gift of nature, I relaxed, taking in detail previously unseen. This lonely little tree was not alone at all.
Rain drops fell softly from petals of freshly muted pink. Beaded hydration to baby buds. A northeast wind blew strong. New flowers and lacy old moss engaged in a staggering romantic dance.

The tiny, insignificant tree permitted me to share precious time with her.
Flat on my back I lay, face to the sky, to the tree, to old and new life entwined.

On the old stone wall, with a humble tree, bits and pieces of me.”

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