At least 1,415 of Hood’s complement became memories to friends and families. Their voices lost…their stories remembered.
Beard Family Walk
- Post author By Paul Ferguson
- Post date
- Categories In Canada, Remembrance
Category: Canada
Beard Family Walk
On Watch in the Rain
The droplets as if heavy tears from the sky. Peace here but not so much in this entire world we know as home. The wind not gentle in its breath but manageable, I stand by familiar tree…
I Walk In Their Path
In anticipation of this Remembrance day, I prepare to find my place and take witness of today’s gathering. Those here are younger ones now and those I once knew have found shelters away from this earthly domain.
As the Crow Flies…
Some, would say the shortest distance between point a and point b is a straight line…known too as the crow flies. I stumble with the latter for as the crow flies implies that said flighted one knows its distance, able to let go of distraction
Generations of High Water
People helping people, filling sandbags, finding comforts, waiting, hope, worry, searching amidst the loss, new friends, the military is here (or has returned). Stop the water…move the people…save the livestock….save the sturgeon, evacuate, evacuate…find higher ground as sirens wail their haunting scream. In the worst of times the best of us found.
No Flypast This Day
In my soft eyed way my eyes close as the black beret of a Desert Rat returns…the aged sailor whose cap of the Atlantic, like him, is no longer with us and the elder swagger of the pilot whose awards danced swing mounted from his chest. Many I knew to speak to…to share, sometimes once a year, sometimes often…
Finding the Gentle Arc
To hear of one so travelled…who stopped as someone’s angel…who found happiness just in the finding. I belong here more than ever as voices once known well ring true…their hand has done their angel guidance atop this wildwood hilltop.
Across the Sky with Chariot
A propensity for continual searching, track and wordsmiths, to speak to this day and the one before…when a journey made to little mountains brings me again to elder acquaintances who have heard my footsteps before. Between the stone evidence of earthbound memories the ever holding grasses screech for dancing delicacy….regn.
While Sparrows Bounce
My ears, unable to distinguish the poet’s voice from the murmurings of mechanical and inflectional clamourings, requires technology to capture the refrain, while sparrows bounce between crumbles. I walk towards the jukebox as verse and chorus rise to my recognitio…
In Love and Light
Dearest Mother Peace…I passed your way this morning to climb an old friend…Mt. Tolmie…to see this city…