Entering the Cabin
Nestled beneath the slender, very tall, long green needled pine trees, and surrounded by nurtured gardenia, azalea, and chrysanthemum bushes breathes the river cabin. I am welcomed. The walls are filled with framed summer beach crafts, family photos, and various nautical trinkets, and weathered straw hats. Tangled fishing poles occupy the sun porch corner. The wooden dining table and a piece that could whisper back generations of exchanged stories, jokes, fish tales, and various discussions of religion, politics, hopes, dreams, and the latest fishing and weather report. With only a brief closing of the eyes the slightly polished table reflects a collogue of those hot breakfasts, dinner of vegetables cooked salty and slowly or those suppers of boiled shrimp with drops of lemon juice and cocktail sauce sprinkled about. The cozy bedrooms, the wicker furnished porch and the savory smell and all so busy kitchen all come together, in a package of love and memory.
Entering the cabin, a carpet of memories greet me. The slow forwarding of each frame of life, of childhood, youth, adulthood, and aging-all click before my eyes-allowing the mind and heart to stop and sharpen the focus of memory.
