ACROSS the MILES

“Though miles may lie between us, we’re never far apart, for friendship doesn’t count the miles, it’s measured by the heart.”

- Oliver Wendell Holmes

It was the second week of March. Warm for the time. All was calm, all was bright in the world. She drove to the beach with her children. To  walk on the sand bars, and wiggle their toes in sand.

Her day began with a surprise in the early mail. A package wrapped in a black garbage bag, taped and retaped . To keep it safe. 

Inside were wondrous things: Christmas cake,  shortbread,  a lovely card. From her kindred spirit. From across the miles.

It may have been March, but it was always Christmas  with the two of them. 

She  caught the scent of perfumed orange peel, spices, and brandy from the soaked cheesecloth wrapped around the cake, bursting with fruit and nuts. She remembered many seasons watching her make these little cakes. Her house full wonder and  the two of them  drinking hot tea with dollops of golden honey, munching on  shortbread.

She arrived at the beach. It was so early. Not a single car in the parking lot. Her children clamoured  around, dragging her down to the sand. She grabbed her bag. 

 There were birds, birds, birds.

All over the beach. Squealing, feeding, swooping. A pair of eagles sat  thoughtfully in the scrubby tree by the shore.  She figured they were on a nest. Hunting. Providing. They watched her intently.

  The tide had been out. So far. But was slowly coming in to cover the sand. Her children  waded in tidepools, close to shore, pointing at purple starfish.  

She sat on a bench, beneath the eagles and  reached into her bag for the cheesecloth wrapped fruitcake. She nibbled contently, as the eagles shifted on their branches.

 “It’s mine” she said to them. They dipped their heads. Pigeons gathered at her feet, looking for crumbs. The eagles eyed the pigeons

“Mine,” she said to the pigeons.  They didn’t move. They cooed and preened. The eagles hovered and stared. Mostly at the pigeons.

Her children ran up with shells. They tried pieces of fruitcake. They made faces and went “bleh”, like  kids do, and sat themselves down  to watch the water lap at the edge of the shoreline.

Canada geese , feeding on  kelp, found themselves being washed to shore. Herons gawked , as they strutted about poking for clams.

The eagles edged closer and dipped their heads once more.  “All gone,” she said and showed them the empty cheesecloth. The pigeons  flew off.  The eagles flapped massive wings and one of them sailed off to hunt. Eerie. Magical.

All is calm. All is bright, she hummed the carol.

She thought of her friend, so far away. She wished she could be here. By this shore. With their children  playing. 

And then she thought, she IS here.  She is always here . In this moment. Across the miles. She is here…..

Photographs 2023

to ......... across the miles............