On the way to the ferry today I turned a corner, and saw flags of mourning.
Flags at half-mast.
On the ground I saw a child’s paper airplane, fallen and forgotten.
And my camera said, “Take me out, use me!”.
So I took pictures of the flags, and of the fallen flyer.
While I took pictures, village crows cawed, flew by, cried to each other and to the east wind.
They landed nearby.
The door of the ferry was open.
But the door was more than one thing.
The door did not just welcome.
It was also ominous.
All I saw held layers of meaning.
My pictures were hard, tense, harsh, angular.
Departure brought a maze of feelings.
The ferry door slowly closed.
We were going to the Other Shore.
When I reached the other shore, in the garden at the lower edge of the supermarket parking lot, I saw goldenrod, yellow, still blooming.
And then, at the top of the lot, at the edge of the bookstore’s foundation, were more flowers.
There is life among the rocks.
It is persistent.
And it is beautiful.