Catskills
Head of the Meadow PJ Carmichael
a collection of short works
Catskills
Howling at the moon. Herbal medicine.Araging fire and a crystal ball. Cozy cabins and tents sprawled out across the field. Clover and conversation. Energy and etymology. White cedar, gentle wind, toy car sitting on an old stone wall. Constant meditation: yogurt, granola, blueberries, banana, and peaches.Astick of incense in the ashtray Digging up a burdock root. Endless inspiration as the treetops dance. Motherly love, babies giggling as they bounce up and down. The voice of Persephone in the flowers and fragrance. Folklore, mythology, and the fashion of the moment. Eating an apple, staring out over the land: succulent, delicious, nourishing and nurturing. Ceramic mugs, porcelain mortars and porcelain pestles. Dried orange slices hanging ornamentally in the old barn, the farmhouse hosting a festive gathering. Wooden chairs. Silk scarves. Bright bouquets in clear vases.Amother bird feeding her little ones in the tent, nest chirping and chattering. Picnic benches by the still pond.Abirdhouse from years ago. Bullfrogs at evening time. Plates, forks, knives, spoons. Torches illuminating the mowed path.Awinged insect stirring ash in the fire pit. Straw hats and overalls. Long, flowing dresses. Natural dyes, immersion in water. Enveloped. Held. Fog in the valley. Ineffable style, unspoken grace.
Head of the Meadow
The largest sand dunes I’ve ever seen.An uphill battle and all downhill from here.A hammock beneath the pines. Picnic table with a pinecone in the center. Bungee cords and a bike rack on the back of the car. Dragonfly watching us from the. Blue bag. “WE ARE ENGAGED” displayed proudly at a campsite. Pumpkins, candles, and other decorations.The Band,The Stone Roses, and The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Cool to the touch. Open flame.Abackpack filled with books, shark sightings, and a brief nap. “We are total savages,” the children yell on their bicycles. We laugh ourselves, the third decade almost underway. “Every relationship is different,” you tell me as we ride along. Seaside at midnight, the stars shining brightly. Firewood piled high in the Recreation Hall.A7-mile loop.The moon sliced perfectly in half. Names and dates carved into the wooden benches. Saltwater sweetness, Little Free Libraries. S'mores by the beach fire after our dinner date, where we watched Ouzo poured into the cast iron skillet, melting the cheese and sending flames dancing into the air. Love poems for the millennium. Swimming in my DeadT-shirt.Asking you questions and singing you songs. Packing up our things after celebrating five precious months, waving goodbye to the Cape, intrigued and exhausted.
Author Bio:
PJ Carmichael is a writer, artist, and general creative from Wakefield, Massachusetts. He is passionate about adventure, exploration, and the great outdoors, and he aims to inspire others to get fresh air, stop to smell the flowers, soak in the scenery, and enjoy the views along the way.