Winter Solstice

"Do you remember Conneaut?" I asked him.

​"Conneaut," he repeated, slowly.

"You know, the lake! Remember the lake, and the boat with the canopy and the benches along the side?"
​
"Oh, Conneaut Lake!" He laughed as he remembered. "Yes, we rode the boat into town," he said.

"And do you remember the church?" I asked. "Remember when the preacher gave an altar call and I raised my hand? And you walked me down to the front because I was afraid?"

​"Yes," he smiled. "And you were the only one," he said with pride in his voice.

I asked him if he remembered the restaurant on the lake, the one that had salt shakers with rice in them; and the Indian dolls in the souvenir shop, dressed in beaded leather, with papooses on their backs. His eyes went vacant again. The moment had passed.

It was dark when we left. Snow was beginning to fall. The winter solstice was fast approaching.

                                     
                                              long night --
                                              the fisherman
​                                              casts his net




​Susan Beth Furst
​Presence, Issue 58, July 2017