There will come a time in the course of everything<\/p>\n
I do when each thing done is done a final time. A handful
\nwill be momentous if nothing more than infrequent\u2014
\ndragging my kayak from the barn for the last first time<\/p>\n
in March, stringing tomato plants in mid-May, and then
\nplucking the final blushing fruit from the vine, a snap
\ndecipherable only to the elbow. My gardening encore, my
\nmuddied waltz over carrots and beet greens, the denouement<\/p>\n
to my growing season. I\u2019ve been weaving a sweater from
\nthese yarns, the collar now a turtleneck, the sleeves cuffed
\nwell above the elbows. I drown in the wool of marriage,
\nraising children, building a home, and then a second home,
\nburying my wife in her own frayed cardigan. And now<\/p>\n
with my elbows firmly stationed on this Adirondack, my eyes
\nfixated on nothing, the falling sun brings the lake
\nto fire. A loon paddles twenty meters out between
\nfloating torches, wishing to head for the coast
\nbefore his last November strikes. As we glance at
\neach other, I play out this certain Armageddon as the sun
\nplummets closer to our perches, the two of us watching<\/p>\n
the world smolder between explosions. He might dive
\nto afford himself a few extra minutes, while I, alone on
\nthis porch, look upwards at the nothing I\u2019ve always known,
\nand fall octaves below the woodwinds of day\u2019s end.<\/p>\n
——–<\/p>\n
Keith Love<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There will come a time in the course of everything I do when each thing done is done a final time. A handful will be momentous if nothing more than infrequent\u2014 dragging my kayak from the barn for the last … Continue reading