Perhaps it is time to rethink the Big Holidays of the year. The adornments of these days have almost suffocated the richness and joy these days once held.
The thought of one more slice of a beautifully smoked, cooked and decorated ham is daunting, the scalloped potatoes have found a welcoming home, and nary a stick of asparagus survived. My poor old system is still working overtime to rid my system of too much candy. So much mandatory fuss and rush.
The pussy willows I picked along Russia Road, for some reason hold something of the mystery of the season. Fresh spring air mixes with the salty air wafting up from the bay. The sun is still gentle on the skin.
This has been a sad time around here. Chocolate bunnies won't fill the void.
Cottage life has perhaps become the true place of ritual and celebration. The profound rests in simplicity.
An uncle holds his frightened niece as the thunder roars. A child picks a teacup full of wild strawberries. A rebellious daughter finds some peace as she paddles solo around the point. The weary get a chance for an afternoon nap. Everyone looks forward to supper on the shore with a big bonfire.
In days gone by, celebrations and feasts broke the neverending, unchanging days of hard work and an endless sameness to food and routine.
Today, for many, it is difficult to escape the whirling, world of Everything Now.
There needs to be a time to all sit together and just gaze at the stars.
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