winter's solstice

snow covered the trees and headstones
in an old cemetery where time
became both present and past.

winds whispered through pines
as souls of the dead 
passed by unnoticed,
they dance amongst the winds.

the heavens do not possess us
during this moment of time.

it is now the day of the year's renewal
where silence of long winter’s nights
breaks only momentarily
allowing dreams to subside
into the few waking hours
where we enter into a search
for an understanding of the circle
in the life-death continuum.

candles illuminate the night,
as the wood of the floor 
reflects the flames flickering and dancing,
in hopes of a quick ending
to this long night.

the flutes and guitars break the silence
while warming the soul with each note;
death now only holds the illusion

and life presents us solemnity.

but, the graveyard continues to present
its silence on this day of renewal.

yet, it is within
the midst of the headstones,
where the snows blanket
the iniquities of the land,
that our souls chase 
those within the winds
as we search for tomorrow. 

the marbled graves
bring finality and change.

the evergreens

give us hope.

the snows
show us purity.

winter's solstice...

-- EjG 

Originally Written 12.16.05 / Revised 12.21.12

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Author's Note: Solomon and the Scribe were in earlier postings. I introduced Icarus 12.16.05, they have become my searchers ~~

Both Solomon and the Scribe walked among the graves days before the winter’s solstice.

“Do you see the beauty of the graveyard?” asked Solomon.

“I do."

“Where?”

“I see it in the trees, the snow, the clouds, the scurrying animals and the gravestones. When you cannot see the beauty in these things then life is at its end,” replied the Scribe.

“Merry Christmas and a warm solstice to you,” said Solomon. “May you find warmth and understanding upon this day of renewal.

“And to you, as well,” stated the Scribe.

It was then that a man by the name of Icarus introduced himself to them, he was the keeper of the dead, the sexton. The three of them prayed for silence solemnity, and peace in the coming time. Winter’s passage is nothing more than a sexton letting the souls be free, which is all Solomon and the Scribe searched for in this time.

“Come with us, Icarus,” requested Solomon.

Accepting their offer, Icarus placed his responsibilities upon the ground, hugged both Solomon and the Scribe, and left with the two men. 

As they walked through the gates of the cemetery, Icarus expressed, "Life cannot be found within the headstones; nor can death be found within life. It's time to search for life."

The three men then walked away within the cold night winds of the winter's solstice...

A Fallen Man, A Heroic Man, A Common Man and an Uncommon Hearse

It was Sunday, August 5, 2012, when I walked through the streets of downtown Traverse City, Michigan with my wife and kids. The skies were clear, a bright sun overhead, but cool for a late summer afternoon. A local film festival had the town packed and bustling. Artists, hippies, film aficionados and common folks walked the sidewalks en masse. There was life all around.

As we walked the sidewalks ourselves, I noticed across the street a customized motorcycle with a hearse trailer behind it. Two men standing stoic next to it. I shot this photo of them, more from the uniqueness of the situation than anything else. 

After lunch we walked back by, this time on the sidewalk next to it. From behind the hearse, I snapped another shot when one of them turned, looked at me and said, "you were the one taking photos from across the street a little while ago, weren't you?"

I told him I was, not sure if there was concern, when he said, "you can put your kids on the bike and take some pictures of them if you'd like." I was not expecting this.

So we did.

When through with taking the photos, I spoke to the man without the top hat and asked him if the hearse had ever actually been used, thinking this was part of the film festival due to it being just outside the State Theater. 

He said it had been, in fact, 52 times, the last time being the day prior for Sargent Justin Hansen, 26, of Kingsley, who had been recently killed in Afghanistan by an IED. The $80,000 Harley Davidson motorcycle hearse customized in Pennsylvania, had just carried Hansen, a motorcycle enthusiast himself, to his grave. A true hometown hero who's casket was followed by several hundred motorcycles and several hundred cars. 

Though I thoughtlessly did not ask their names, I later learned through several searches they were A. Jay Howard and David Censke of Battle Creek, Michigan. I believe it was Censke, the man without the top hat, whom I spoke with. These two men volunteer their services for men like Hansen. 

Censke, a military man himself, had lost seven men in Afghanistan. They were his family, he was closer to them than his own blood. His face showed the pain as he described the loss, and it was something I could never comprehend. Whether or not you support or despise the military action there, or anywhere, you have to honor the courage and sacrifice many of us will never know or understand.

In my younger days I feared being in the military, now I regret not serving. I told him this, not expecting any response in return, and taking advantage of his silence to thank him for what he had done for our country. It's humbling to thank a military man in person who has lost his own men. A hand shake and simple words do not seem to be enough.

Then the unexpected came. He looked me straight in the eyes and said in a firm voice, "It doesn't matter if you didn't serve. If you serve your community in some way, then you have done something that matters," which is a pretty gracious statement for a man who has seen more death than I'll ever know. However, this is the best I can do at this point in my life. 

He then changed the discussion.

"You have a beautiful daughter," he said. I thanked him with pride. We laughed about the dating years that lie ahead of me.

I asked if he had kids. He replied, "No." After a brief pause he went on to say, "My first child died and then my ex moved on."

His face told the tale from a perspective of sadness again. But, he went on to tell me he did raise two Vietnamese children. He was doing what he could to give them something better.

He finished the conversation by saying, "I gave them the best life I could, they were not my own, but I know how you feel."

Our parting handshake was the best I had ever known. It was from a man I will only know from this instance, and yet is from one who shared with me pride and honor, and a sense of realizing just how precious time and living truly are in this life.

When I met up with my wife she asked, "Did you make a new best friend?"

"I just met a man with an inspiring story."

EjG

A New Time...

Too many days have past, almost a year of them, since last writing on Crossroads. This has to change. In the last year there have been many things to take my mind and soul away from writing, and it is killing my being. I am not this person without soul or words. The picture below has more significance than any know. 

This photo was taken on St. George Island the night before Tropical Storm Debby made landfall on us. Despite the warnings, I stood in the surf breathing in the salt air, gin and tonic warming my soul, as I took a series of these photos. Little did I realize the changes to come in the short days ahead. But, it sometimes takes a storm to get to a better place...ask me some time, and I'll tell you the full story. 

Until then, Crossroads at Sunrise begins again. This time not just with poetry and photography, but also with stories of those places and people that have some tale needing to be told. The stories are most important. The photos and poems only paint a moment in time. Stories define these moments. 

May we all find and understand peace and serenity at some point in our time...and may we all have our stories told before they are forgotten.

EjG