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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required *** SINGING MEMORIES *** “Many days you have lingered around my cabin door. Hard times, come again no more.” ** A memory came flying through to me this afternoon — a fine memory, not recently seen, Up from long ago, some fifty years past — the vision Came of a then oft-repeated scene from my college years (What seems another life’s yesterdays), Of the times the three of us — Susie, Lois and I — Would take off from campus, head straight east To where the Susquehanna River sped past, Beneath its mountainous other side along which A dense, old-as-time forest grew, extending The full long range of miles Which a voice could never dare Try to suppose its shouts could be heard Sounding On across where the boulders bow To touch the rapid currents, Like the where we’d go Along the river’s edge with its cut Back to knee-high grass growing lush green… Overseen by the trees we imagined were pleased to be The audience for our chatter and songs. Through rounds of folk tunes and the Blues, The Susquehanna’s current there was intent on its rush To go free, maybe Trying to keep to some Sensing of a primal, Eden’s flow of Nature…Strong… Trying in each, singular day, To clear away more of the Appalacian’s stone Blocking a straight-a-way course from thence to subsequent… “‘Tis a sigh that is wafted across the troubled wave ‘Tis a wail that is heard upon the shore”* We paced slowly, we three, beside the River’s pushing past, Singing along to Susie’s gifted plucking and strumming On her guitar in the key of “C.” We’d go along lazily, On through our repetoire of Seeger, James Taylor, Dylan, Joni, And the many more we had memorized. Folk songs and the Blues. Every gentle note, each heart’s written lyrics — “Many days you have lingered around my cabin door… :Hard times come again no more…”* Side by side, we sang in harmony, In a friendship of spirit, Perhaps only youth may know, without urgency or pain, While the ancient Appalacian’s Susquehanna kept to Its forceful rush heading south, Its waters thrust here to flung high there. High Over rocks jutting out from the river’s bed, Impeding the flow. Arced splattering to the sky. Sun-caught, flying water crescents to glint Over its on-going, The sights and magnifigance beside which we Wandered, strolled singing. Non-chalant. Without guessing Those frequent afternoons Would combine to make a future’s memories. ——————————————————————————————————————— ** Paddy Maloney’s song “Trouble Come No More” ————————————————————————— (c) sally young eslinger 12/29/2022 Thanks be to God…
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