Chilmark’s Requiem

2002

16" X 10"

Oil on Panel

SOLD

I took a long walk last night.
Over the sandy lane and down the 27 steep steps to the beach.
The waves from last week’s storm had uncovered two more steps
so the descent was a longer one. I counted.
The heavy rope we keep anchored to the railing was twisted in a knot
but it didn’t bother me.
Only took a couple minutes to free it’s length.
And you really do need it to repel down the bank of smooth stonewall beach stones
to set you safely on the flat of the sand.

Lynn’s moon was full
but she had left the island two days ago
so it was following her home to New Hampshire, I suppose.
Gulliver was tired from a long day of chasing butterflies and rolling in the tall bluff grass.
I left her sleeping by the daybed where Herself was curled under the Hudson Bay
with firelight for her reading and Chilmark Chocolate for her soul.

Alone on the beach.
The slow gentle curve of Squibnocket ahead
and enough footprints behind me now to establish a determined pace.
Letting each wave peel away another layer of the year’s absence
from this sacred corner of the planet and hoping for,
but not expecting so soon after our arrival, that blessed peace.
Becoming at one with the island.

So, when I first heard it,
the violin’s music was not startling.
Certainly not out of place
for this is the jumping off point for much of the world’s grace.
But I did wonder…
in whose wake does it sing?