Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Quiet gratitude in Billington's Cove

Hand-built pottery by Julie Whitmore.
Billington's Cove, practically a sentient creature in its own right, found a reasonably painless path by which to return to, as some choose to call it, normal.  Those who fished, fished.  Those who lay about resumed that with happy lethargy.  Thinkers thought, the baker baked, gossips conspired, tides ebbed and flowed.  Over years, generations, Cove dwellers had practiced until they were masters the art of appreciation for gifts bestowed, benevolence at the whim or plan of the universe.  They did not pine for additional days of outdoor picture shows nor grumble as the sno cone cart was wheeled back into storage. 

Here there would be no Christmas lights left up and burning past New Year's Eve to prolong the holiday (simple love of outdoor lighting was, of course, welcomed).   No jack o'lanterns hunched on porches on Nov. 1, though many were cleverly turned around to present the uncarved pumpkin face to an autumn-gripped world.  It was not so much that there were rules, more that time had helped develop a collective ability to let the good of a moment or a day or a season be enough.  The ethic involved a deeply-held and never discussed - because there was no need - blend of optimism and trust that what was concluded would return.  It was a belief that did not impair the ability or inclination of a Cove resident to dream or to hope.   They knew what to dream of, what to hope for.  Cycles were just that.  Comings and goings were the rhythm of life.  Finding peace and reassurance in the calendar freed the heart for other yearnings.

10 comments:

susan t. landry said...

utopia, marylinn kelly style....

Marylinn Kelly said...

Susan - Being able to keep it simple would be heavenly. I think of Margaret Mead, observing, absorbing, these people, this place. xo

Melissa Green said...

Sigh. I want to go there to live. xoxo

Lisa H said...

I love the narrators "voice".
The wise watcher.
The inparter of Wisdom.

Lucky me, I get to actually CALL that person. Miracles are real.

Marylinn Kelly said...

Melissa - I know I've seen your name on a mailbox. It may just be a matter of catching the right bus. Same for me. xo

Marylinn Kelly said...

Lisa - Thank you. I do feel like a reporter, an imparter of wisdom shared. They are fine teachers, those Cove dwellers. You are a miracle yourself, I blush. xo

Erin in Morro Bay said...

Yes, yes! When perfect sunny days are not the norm - they are always embraced fully "in the moment" and loved for those hours, without an anticipation of more tomorrow. Blue skies give way to fog (which is perfection for some) season follows season - at the Cove, it's all good.
Erin

Marylinn Kelly said...

Erin - As Susan called this, my style of utopia, the Cove as ideal. And, I do know that such a place is not pure fantasy, for which you can vouch. xo

beth coyote said...

The pot captures the whimsy and caprice of the Cove...and you hint at other yearnings ( a touch of melancholy) without the slumped pumpkins and Christmas lights to mark the season.

A lovely bit of writing with the right amount of tension.

Marylinn Kelly said...

Beth - Thank you. I adore the pot, the fish for where it all began. My hope is that slowly we will find what they keep hidden in their hearts. They are slow to open up to this outsider. xo