I heard the foghorn
Then remembered
The rain on the roof overhead
The tall trees dripping and swaying
Leaves rustling.

Have they been here forever?
Since the days when Pere Marquette
Walked through cool glades
And chirping golden meadows
To the open blue of Lake Michigan?

My grandmother sang me ‘The Red Fox Song’
‘Til nothing was left but the bones-o…’
And read me stories of magical things that happened long ago
East of the Sun and West of the Moon
But we’d stop when the foghorn blew
To savor that sad sound
In our little cabin with the dark all around.

Once when we were driving
We saw a heron flapping his way from the marshes into the sunset
Gradually
Like a funeral procession
My grandfather wore dark glasses
Because the sunlight hurt his eyes.

When I was older
I  made a fire and camped on the beach
Near the foghorn at Point Betsie.
And like the lighthouse at that place
Shined my flashlight
out at the stars
Pondering Eternity.

Poem: Thomas W. Eley
Illustrations: Xian Lin Eley

Dedicated to our Mother and Grandmother
Betsy Hill Eley Youngblood

Please consider donating/helping The Friends of Point Betsie Lighthouse Inc.

http://www.pointbetsie.org/