november 1

I awoke early this morning so tired, and sad with the awareness that I didnt' think I could do justice in writing to the beauty of yesterday. I checked my email and found this! Here, for you:

november 1

cold november morning

day after the first snow

bare ground

most of the leaves now fallen

finally a few, quiet last breaths

he had stopped struggling

no more moving or trying

all done.

after the weary wives had spoken

and one slept and one left

there was eating and drinking and a sigh of relief

that he was peaceful.

some quiet moments to spend by the still body that lay quietly

by the candle to guide the soul,

time to think thoughts or say things to his still hovering spirit

that were unsaid before this time.

decorate the barn, the women did, as only we could.

with old sheets and fabric the wooden barn became a fine parlour,

a place for him to rest and have his goodbyes.

then the boys came with their beautiful box of pine,

a pine boat cushioned with sweet fir boughs

a fine double ender, no less.

the vessel for the next leg of david demere's last great adventure.

then, the candles were lit

and the sea river water was gathered in glass

warmed on the stove and scented with rose oil.

the women, sons and father gathered together around his fine body

and spoke and remembered and honored and wept and laughed and cleansed his body

with the water from the sea river.

we had no plan of how to,

we just did, and it was... perfect.

he was then dressed in his finest garb

and we put him in the pine boat built by his fine sons.

he rests sweetly upon the fir boughs

and fit just right.

he looked good there.

then carried by the strong boys,

the boat, the man, followed by singing bowl

and women and father

and lots of love...

into the barn parlour in candle-light

all of old wood, looking very much like a sanctuary.

we said goodnight/ goodbye,

(not really feeling very ready to say good bye,

but we may have to say that several times before we really mean it)

candles burning to guide the soul,

a lid placed atop him in his boat,

a candle in a jar on the boat

in the cold barn,

barn door shut.

one by one, as ready,

we retreat into the warm house

to start over.

Joanne Moesswilde