The days in Wilmington pass in the same fashion as they do at the rabbit patch-without the help of a clock. I watch the way shadows fall at the rabbit patch . I see shade claiming the corner of the garden-and I know it’s time to start supper. In Wilmington, time is just ribbons of sunlight on the Atlantic that dance with a cheerful shine and when they slow to a waltz, it’s time to go home.
My son, Tres came in last night from Charleston. He lives in Wilmington, but his job sent him to Charleston for a while this summer. Tres coming home, was the icing on my cake! We had “Sunday dinner” on Saturday at four o’clock. It didn’t seem to be the least bit odd. I am as happy as a lark when I am in a kitchen ,on any given day .
I watched the boys walking back and forth to the pool while I was cooking and saw once again, that they weren’t boys and hadn’t been for a long while. It has been many years ago, that Tres pushed bright yellow trucks filled with rocks and sticks-and longer still since Brant combed every inch of the woods behind the house , naming the trees as he went. He would bring back leaves in his pockets for me and we would press them in heavy books . Mothers set great store by such memories and will think about them while they peel potatoes .
I took my own sweet time cooking dinner- I have done everything all week in the same manner. The boys ate and declared it was just perfect, so all was right in my world-and it felt good. We planned on a breakfast for Sunday morning-that is also the day Tres goes back to Charleston and I go back to the rabbit patch. I have missed my two youngest sons. I have missed Cash and Christopher Robin, too. I have even missed the smell of dirt and the way the wind smells that has blown through the woods.
I will not leave Wilmington empty-handed but instead with a pocket full of sweet memories . I will remember the blue heron that visits the pond every morning and walks stealthily around the banks . There is also a pair of geese, I have spent a fair amount of time watching glide around the water. It was a sight full of such peace, that it made me drowsy on several occasions . I got to know some cardinals that live in the wisteria vines at the edge of the woods. It took them a while to realize there was no harm in me, but when they did, they were quite friendly. I read some poetry-Longfellow, Frost and Yeats-always Yeats. I didn’t write as much as I had expected, but instead stared “through the looking glass” on the pond for somewhere between twenty minutes and twenty years, watching the clouds pass by. I will remember that my boys cast the shadow of young men-and that they walk with confidence-those were golden moments. There was so much to do with my liberty and I was determined to use it wisely.
My account of the last five days may sound “sleepy”. There are no crimes or politics to read about nor any heartbreaking going on, the diary of the rabbit patch is not intended for such purposes-but I know some of the secrets of the pond and woods out back and I have seen diamonds without measure. Ones without price ,that shimmer with a shine not found in any store. You do not need fame or fortune to bear witness to their dazzle. These diamonds give no honor to worldly ranking . No man can bury them and no one can steal them, yet they are there for the taking. They abide on lazy rivers, lowly ponds and on the vast Atlantic ocean. I have seen them . . .in little ribbons of sunlight that fall on the waters in a generous manner-and I am better because of it.