Never again

Out there in the bay, the Mount Desert Narrows, more precisely, there is a rock that might cause a problem for a beginning sailor (of whom there are many here in the summer), or perhaps for a lobster hunter in the fog (those are probably year round). Whatever that hazard is, it apparently warrants its own bell. which sounds gently a few hundred yards offshore, and has done every time I've been here.

At 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, and through that decade, with some long breaks since then, I heard it and longed for it in between. The last time I thought "never again," as our family had scattered, and my parents' ashes floated out into the sunrise they loved so well. Well . . . here I am; specifically to add the first of my generation to that dawn tide.

Only two of us left - but here I can hear the echoes of their voices in that bell; change comes in doses so small here. The five dwindled to two in several long heart beats, and two wait, taking the breaths between now and the next never again.