… a September 2001 memory
New York Harbor, One September
… a September memory, 2001
September comes
with its whimsical wind,
and the bittern’s barbaric yawp
echoes across the creek,
a snowfall of seagulls perch
upon the jetty,
watch
as we hoist our sails
at the mouth of the bay —
the sloop floats like paper
blown
by a little boy’s breath,
past inlet coves and marinas:
we reach the Harbor,
the sun’s golden glint turns to rust,
the air is clothed
with subtle shrouds of grey
for weeping —
far off into the distance the skyline
is a ghastly dream,
toothless
of two towers,
and the salt air mingles with smoke
and burning steel,
ashened mortar,
the putrescence
of flesh and flowers —
we turn around,
maneuver the wind,
the charts and tides,
to reach our own secluded harbor,
cradled by the arms of moonlight—
we throw down the anchor,
fall asleep under a…
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I remember clearly that day – and remember feeling it all over when I read your words a year ago, dear Dee. Always, we lean into the arms of comfort – our only refuge in a storm. ~ Love, Bobbie
It touches my heart that you stopped by to read this piece again, Bobbie. Truly, the arms of comfort are our only refuge in a storm. Love, Dee