Jackamiah’s Pond

  When the night is full of mist and shooting stars abound, the oaks begin their slow descent to Jackamiah’s Pond.   They drink their fill and wash their leaves, then beckon to the moss who line up at the water’s edge and watch the Pathway’s Cross.   At three past twelve the moon aligns…

The Highest Hill We Know

Wednesday at five.   Nancy and I sit on the berm at the edge of the beach. Damp in our suits, sharing binoculars.   Scanning north, our eyes strain for a glimpse of the Hudson. Rolling dust curls, with Dad inside.   Winged, yellow Hornet. Sun flashing off chrome. Now there! Now gone.   Bare…