MILES

"The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and I have miles to go before I sleep...." -Robert Frost

Summer was over. Fall set in. Nights were chilly and damp with the hint of  Christmas yet to come. Candles burned in the house. My mother gathered fruitcake fixings and hummed  Good King Wenceslas.

It was only September.

I had a new friend. Her name was Paula.  She played flute. Sort of.  She’d had six  lessons. She knew two songs.

Her mother made her pretty dresses with bows and ribbons in her blonde hair.

I usually wore corduroys and t shirts, my long hair tied up in pigtails.

One Saturday, my mother was busy arranging raisins for fruitcake. The dark ones had their own pile. The light ones another.

Paula and I decided to go up the back hill , to the little mountain behind the house. We’d been talking about it for days.

My mother waved at us absently “have a good time.” She was busy cataloguing candied peel.

I grabbed my violin, Paula  brought her flute , and we high tailed it to the little mountain. It was just after noon.

The grass, saturated with early morning dew, squelched and snapped at our feet. 

We also brought powdered Tang, so our fingers would turn orange, jujubes and crackers. In case we got hungry. 

It was muddy going. Trees and brush tore at our arms. We slogged up a trail we had marked out over the summer. 

We reached the top. A parking lot. The mountain  of rocks, dirt and scrub Broom  lay in front of us. Surrounded by a few houses.  The view was what we came for.

The sky opened up above the trees. Some of them turning  colours already. We were on top of the world.

It was a great lookout. It was our place.

We played pirates for while, standing on the deck of a huge pirate ship. We battled our imaginary foes and won. Of course.

Then we  had a sword fight. Paula with her flute, and I with my violin bow. 

We could see forever. For miles from that rocky hill. Right to the seaside beyond the graveyard.  

Sky met sea in a chorus of grey . We played ghost ship…..where we were ghosts, sailing into the  silver beyond.

Then we decided to pretend we were an orchestra. Paula with her flute and I with my violin. 

We played “Twinkle Twinkle” little star and ” Go tell Aunt Rhoda” about a zillion times. Those were Paula’s.

It took a while till  we noticed the  two police officers  climbing up the hill. Someone had called them, I  suppose.

They  gave us a ride back to my house. They insisted.

My mother had all of the Christmas fruit out on the counter and table. She even found a small fruitcake  in the freezer and was taste testing it when we were brought home.

She could have been mad. Instead she sat us down and offered us Snickerdoodle cookies she made while we were out. 

We ate Snickerdoodles till our cheeks were full.  Then we played “Twinkle” and “Go tell Aunt Rhoda” , for my mother while she counted raisins.

We never went back to the mountain. In a short time it was built up, and our lookout was gone. We never again saw across the treetops for miles and miles to the sea. But I could  imagine it  in my mind’s eye, and feel the  pirate ship beneath my feet…..

 Photographs 2022