3474. ALL THE RAMIFICATIONS OF POLLARD BAY

ALL THE RAMIFICATIONS 

OF POLLARD BAY

Standing atop this little hill, the road before me spreads,

winding its way down to Pollard Bay. I recognize that scene.

I have been here many times before. Yet, now, in this late

time, all the ramifications of Pollard Bay seem different,

seem broader, seem heavy with new meaning. 

-

I read nothing more than what is : into this place come

all the natural elements, everything one would so plainly

expect. I have light and matter and air and water and

view and visitation. I have angels on the wing, things

hovering on limb and branch. Watchers watch with

me, alongside that same place, walking my same pace.

Birds and wisdom, light and air, all of morning and

matter together. To be this specific is to realize

how general all things truly are. I manifest the

fact that I may be, perhaps, and nothing more.

-

Far off, enough of a distance anyway to be 'there',

the white and blue of the water sings its tune and roils

in sunlight all its happy fare. I watch gulls as they

turn in the air, and I see the few boats as they are

rocking there. And  -  farther off yet   -  the 

beginnings of land rise up again; summer homes,

cabins, a distant lighthouse and an inn. I know

these things, not readily seen, as they exist.

-

So much like all the rest of life is that: knowing

things unseen, surmising the map of place and

understanding the graphic fragment which

outlines the remainders of all that we live.

I know, I know, I must be content with

this : for there is no magic in the land,

there is no magic in the world. Nothing 

to really take me from here. All the

ramifications of Pollard Bay? 'Accept

what you have' they seem to say.