Congregational Summer Assembly » Literature

The Foghorn

CSA Webmaster — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 03:34:43 +0000

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/

Nice poem

CSA Webmaster — Sat, 20 Feb 2010 04:46:20 +0000

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

— Wendell Berry

I am from…by Crissie Fuller

Doug Fuller — Mon, 12 Jan 2009 17:37:35 +0000

I am from hand stitched quilts.
From creaky wood floors and musty blankets.
I am from screen porches, from family dinners, card games, and stories.
I am from damp towels and swim suits on the clothes line that never get all the way dry.
I am from birch trees, hollyhocks, and soft, warm, sand.

I am from Washburn
From Mallory
From Elliott.

I’m from, “one at a time on the slide, please!” and “let’s shake some hands and say good game!” I’m from “10:30 swimming, HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!”
I am from South Shore, Standish, and Shorewood.
From Alden Edwards, Esplanade, Fuller, from Lover’s Lane.

I’m from Steam Boatin’, Freedom Bound, and Go West!
From Down-ies, Yacht-ies, and Town-ies, from ups and downs.
I’m from Papano’s Pizza in the Crystal View parking lot.
From the Dunes to the Point to the Yacht Club, I’m from scratching swimmers-itch at the Cherry Bowl Drive-In.

I am from pop, ping-pong, and putt-putt.
I’m from beach fires, sunsets and thunder-storms.
From the Northern Lights, shooting stars and fireworks on the Fourth of July.
I am from boat docks, sunburns, and mothball scented steamer trunks.
I’m from sailing, swimming, and S’mores.
From sandcastles and mosquito bites.

I smell like sunscreen, pine trees, and warm rain on pavement.
I taste like cherries, corn-on-the-cob, and Mackinac Island fudge.
I feel like cool, clear water, beach grass, and wet sand.
I sound like the wind rattling the sailboat’s halyards against their masts, Wednesday night choir practice, and crickets.
I look like my mother, and her mother, and her mother’s mother.
I am from these people, these places, these things.
I am from summer,
I am from the Lake.