So here’s where my thoughts go in the middle of the night. I’m thinking I need something unusual for my current Work In Progress. It’s the fantasy about the ninth son of the ninth son and the so on.
So where will their quest lead them? Up in the hills of course. To an old abandoned village near the cliffs. White stone crumbling buildings are all that remain, and the dry fountain in the village square. It’s here, once a year, that the dancing grandmothers come.
The Dancing Grandmothers
Dance with joy, for all that I’ve seen;
Bend with loss, for what might’ve been;
Reach for the sky, and let longing prayers fly,
For the children, Dear God, and I.
Now reach for friends, our fingers interlace;
Circle wide and come near, winding fears we all face;
Rise up to our toes, graceful girls still within;
We’re the old ones, who’ve earned all our dreams.
I struggled to read this old postcard. Scribbled on in August of 1906, the words are the most basic of news. ‘Your letter came today’ and ‘This morning was clear but very warm;’ followed by ‘It was fine driving through the woods.’ They met ‘Uncle E.’ there at Mohonk and had a ‘very pleasant time’.
This postcard of a ‘pretty spot on Lake Mohonk’ was sent with the hope that it would ‘remind you of some of the good times we had’. Wow. Facebook, in a nutshell, or the social networking of the time.
But I find it fascinating. Someone went to the nearby market or small store and shopped for this postcard and someone on the other end, no doubt, found the intimate details of their time gripping. The morning was clear, and the drive through the woods, although at other times possibly a concern, was ‘fine’. And there, in all his glory, ‘Uncle E.’ was standing about, waiting to be met at Mohonk.
Somehow it sends me. This photo of a clear and pretty spot coalesces with the words. One hundred and eleven years ago, someone wrote on a postcard depicting a day from their life. It was a restful day, and one to be shared. The simple details described implies that the receiver of this card was someone close, and familiar. They’d been to Mohonk too. They knew Uncle E. and what the E. stood for. They understood about driving through those woods.
This, my friend, is all I need to know. Are your skies clear and is the weather warm? Are you safe when you drive through the woods? And remember those places we shared.
Now here is a picture of Lake Mohonk, today.
It seems to me that I still can see a little triangle hut roof or two there off the left side.
I don’t know if that’s the same pretty spot at all, or the same little rooftop. But it’s fun to think about.