"Boat Landing....Chippewa River, Bruce, WI" (Image & Text Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
Yesterday was one of those rare days when memories met memory updates—a mingling of the past and the present, both vivid and tender. It was my high school class reunion, an anniversary of a time so far back that I hesitate to count the years. You know, I am not a shy person, but I am one who often sits back, content to observe. There is a great value in this. The older I become, the more willingly—perhaps even happily—I find myself in that role.
There were faces I recognized immediately, as if no years had passed, though the lines and silver threads of time now traced their way across them. Older, yes. Wiser? Perhaps. In some of those faces, I felt the tug to go over, to say, “How are you?” or “Please, tell me your story.” But mostly, I let my eyes wander the room, taking in the hum of conversation, the bursts of laughter, the occasional silence between words. The air was thick with life stories, each person a book still being written.
One wall held the youthful yearbook portraits of those who had already gone ahead—about a third of us now. The images were frozen in their springtime, forever young, untouched by the slow sculpting of the years. It hurt to look at them, not because they were gone, but because I will never know the final chapters of their stories.
I was grateful for the friends I still see at our monthly gatherings—bonds formed long ago that remain unshaken. With them, conversation is effortless; the years between feel like a blink. And yet, after about an hour and a half, I felt the familiar pull to slip away quietly. It felt good to get in the car and “sail away.”
On my drive home, I realized that this type of thing…was in reality not my type of thing. I so deeply appreciate the people who took time and energy to put this event together—I thank them sincerely. But…
A new day starts. Yesterday is in the rearview mirror.
This morning’s coffee garden walk was much like the last several days—warm, with the dew point inching toward the uncomfortable range. As I walked, listening to nature waking up, watching the light shift across leaves and petals, my thoughts turned reflective. Fragments of yesterday drifted through my mind, like leaves floating on a river’s surface. Yet this new day was calling me.
Stories. Stories in that room yesterday. Stories waiting to be made today. May all these stories be woven into the great fabric of life—threads of joy, loss, love, and hope—each one essential, each one part of the whole.
Standing yesterday at the boat landing on the Chippewa River in Bruce, Wisconsin, I understood this truth:
“The river does not cling to what has passed, yet it carries all stories forward.”
~Wylddane
There were faces I recognized immediately, as if no years had passed, though the lines and silver threads of time now traced their way across them. Older, yes. Wiser? Perhaps. In some of those faces, I felt the tug to go over, to say, “How are you?” or “Please, tell me your story.” But mostly, I let my eyes wander the room, taking in the hum of conversation, the bursts of laughter, the occasional silence between words. The air was thick with life stories, each person a book still being written.
One wall held the youthful yearbook portraits of those who had already gone ahead—about a third of us now. The images were frozen in their springtime, forever young, untouched by the slow sculpting of the years. It hurt to look at them, not because they were gone, but because I will never know the final chapters of their stories.
I was grateful for the friends I still see at our monthly gatherings—bonds formed long ago that remain unshaken. With them, conversation is effortless; the years between feel like a blink. And yet, after about an hour and a half, I felt the familiar pull to slip away quietly. It felt good to get in the car and “sail away.”
On my drive home, I realized that this type of thing…was in reality not my type of thing. I so deeply appreciate the people who took time and energy to put this event together—I thank them sincerely. But…
A new day starts. Yesterday is in the rearview mirror.
This morning’s coffee garden walk was much like the last several days—warm, with the dew point inching toward the uncomfortable range. As I walked, listening to nature waking up, watching the light shift across leaves and petals, my thoughts turned reflective. Fragments of yesterday drifted through my mind, like leaves floating on a river’s surface. Yet this new day was calling me.
Stories. Stories in that room yesterday. Stories waiting to be made today. May all these stories be woven into the great fabric of life—threads of joy, loss, love, and hope—each one essential, each one part of the whole.
Standing yesterday at the boat landing on the Chippewa River in Bruce, Wisconsin, I understood this truth:
“The river does not cling to what has passed, yet it carries all stories forward.”
~Wylddane
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