I Cannot Return

I cannot return, For all my need, for all my want; The best of all I’ve ever had I want to give to those I love- The best cannot return. The best is gone; the best is strange, Foreign to those who were not there. And yet they live within me still, Memories I want to share. Running barefoot through the frost, That barefoot child today is lost. Blueberry marshes and succulent fruit, Worth the scratches on leg and foot- The taste remains. Thunder storms and hail-sized drops That bounce on pavement curbs, Purple Martins peeping from a hole Neatly carved in a telephone pole, Starlings nesting under the eves, Hauling logs behind a team, Walking the pole line, a day’s full walk- Night is falling before we get back. Lazy clouds on a summer day, And oh! -the smell of new-mown hay, Sand-pit hills, impulsive slides, Raking hay and stacking stooks, Never hurried, but firmly pushed Through steady work that must be done. An hour to lay upside down On top a haystack in the sun, Wild cucumber vines and columbines; Strawberry picking one by one- Mustn’t eat or you’ll never get done. Butter sloshing in the churn- Food-of-gods on bread at noon, A whip-poor-will calling in the gloom; And through it all time to reflect Under the stars. Northern lights and shining drifts, Icicles forming in our hair, Leading sheep out through the snow- Single file on the path we go. Early morning, lambs are birthing- A joyous thing to see. Bitter cold and the dark of night- All of these are part of me. Brittle wood in the cold of spring, The bite of the ax and a hollow ring, An hour to rest that because it’s there Seems to stretch into a year. Scripture reading and singing hymns, Sunday walks, we know not where, Dewdrops on a spider’s web, A breathless moment to stand and stare, Riding the horse to the county fair, The river rushing down the sluice, Hopping booms in secret fear- Leisurely moments of youth. Scot’s thistles blooming majestically In a field nibbled close by lambs. Daisy chains and trailing wreaths; Wintergreen berries in melting snows. Playing marbles in the spring- Never pout if you didn’t win. Bouncing balls off a wall: Ordinary, moving, laughing, talking, One hand, the other hand, One foot, the other foot, Clap front, clap back, Clap front-and-back, back-and-front, Tweedle, twaddle, Turn-about, and under she goes. Memories I cannot share- I speak a language no one knows. Acceptance of each day I lived- All of these I cannot give. They can return no more. Memories of Life in the Far North