I think we’re sitting on the rusty tracks of a railroad siding in China Camp in the spring of 1983. Matt is on the left, Ben is on the right, and some young guy with no gray hair is in the center. We’re tossing stones and talking smart.
[tags]fun, family, foolishness, mean kids, not[/tags]
4 Comments
A rowdy looking bunch of kids — all three…
Here are a few sweet, calm words to wisp among shoreline memories of China Camp; written about 1982 by my lovely lady friend Ruth Barrata.
China Camp
The waves come in again and again,
Come in from the sea to the shore.
The waves come in and retreat and then
Leave that part which retreats no more.
The waves come in on watery feet
With no two ever the same.
The waves come in, the earth to meet,
Then leave constant, untamed.
The waves sing out in watery voice
To earth and sky and cloud.
What message is’t to man they pose,
Now gentle then now loud?
The waves come in to the land from the sea,
Their tops a’foaming and curled.
Their great voice repeats whisperingly
That each is a part of this world.
Smiling, Winston. And Brian, thanks for the lovely poem.
Where’s your hat, Frank? You know you should never go outdoors without your hat — the cardinal, cowboy, or tinfoil hat. It’s the black helicopters, you known. But you seem to have survived. If, of course, you really are Frank Paynter…