Today would have been my Aunt Alice’s one-hundredth birthday. Hers was a tragic life of early widowhood and schizophrenia. Never have I known anyone braver, harder-working, or more generous --- or more under-appreciated. I write and paint on the land paid for by her young husband’s life insurance and by her own determination. Vandals destroyed the house she loved, yet its empty foundation guards the mouth of my long driveway, and I find that a comfort, that the granite walls remain. Hidden by brambles and burdocks, they remain.
So Aunt Alice, tonight I will look at the full moon that shines on the brook that circles the oaks and the pines, and I will tell you that I have written poems of you and stories of you, so that the essence of you does in fact remain, lovingly, as you always signed your letters.
Causes Mara Buck Supports
Kennebec Valley Humane Society, Amnesty International