Somewhere....

Somewhere in my many sealed boxes that sit in this house is a fossil I collected as a child.

Somewhere in that pile are all of my clothes.

Somewhere in there, I might be able to find that hummingbird feeder that needs to be put out for my feathered friends.

Somewhere, at the Cabin in the still frozen garage sits the kitchen table I used to have dinners at with my daughter.

Somewhere in my boxes, are all the cards my kids gave me for my birthdays.

Somewhere.

Somewhere in the carted up, boxed up and stored remnants of the years past is my life.

The few precious things I have left are sealed and stored. Waiting for their owner to open up and fill a home, a yard and a life that sits on hold.

They have been in boxes and storage sheds for far too long.

My wind chimes need to feel the breeze and sing their song.

My bird feeders need to be hung so that my friends can enjoy their seed.

My gorgeous rocks and minerals need to be on shelves so that others can marvel at their beauty and the millions of years it took for their creation.

My life needs to be opened up, and set free.

Home for the Holidays.

Tomorrow is Easter Sunday.

It used to mean a lot. But, I am no longer a Christian, and I do not follow the ordained or organized religions. So, that meaning to me is no longer relevant.

But the holiday times used to be one of family. We'd all get together and feast. Talk. Laugh, and enjoy.

It seems as if that was another lifetime now.

My mom is gone more than two years. How I miss her. More than I can ever explain.

My dad has a girlfriend. He will be spending the holiday with her, her kids, and grandkids, at her immaculate, impossibly clean house.

I am sitting here in my father's (and formerly my mom's) house. It is a mess. And it is cluttered to the point that those house cleaning shows like "Hoarders" would have a seizure over if they saw it.

My ex has her own home, and lives with my son. She has a sort-a boyfriend that may be a part of her holiday celebrations.

My daughter has moved in with a friend, 3 states away.

So, I will do this.

I am cooking a great meal.

I will spend Easter with my mom.

She deserves to not be left alone.

For my mom.

A number of years ago.

There was a Daily News radio show on WOR radio in NYC. They were the editors and others from the Newspaper. They had a talk radio show late in the day.

I used to listen on the way home from work.

One day.

The primary topic was about a Whale that was stranded near Point Barrow, Alaska.

The editors and the newspaper gurus were all decrying how we were spending money and effort to save this Whale.

They decried that this is nature, and this is the way life goes.

So, as I drove home from work, I listened to the callers to the show.

And then.

I hear my mother's voice.

She got up the guts to call the station. To voice her opinion.

They were hard on her.

The ridiculed her.

But what she said echoed in my brain to this day.

She said.

We are the most intelligent species on this planet.

And what we do to save other life forms from disaster.............

Is because we were cast with being stewards of the life on Earth.

Not dominion.

The bible tells us we have dominion over the other creatures on this Earth.

But it was lost in translation.

There is a world of difference.

Dominion is for rulers and Kings.

Stewardship is an obligation to keep the lives of those we cherish as paramount. To keep them well. To help them. To bring them to safety.

She understood this.

The radio personalities denigrated her, as I listened.

But my mom held fast.

She said, we are blessed with the grace of God. We are obligated to reach out an help those less than we.

For in that, we are more Godlike.

God Bless you mom.

You knew. You understood.

And so do I.

Butterfly Lane.

There is a road.

Barely a road.

It courses through the Catskill mountains, near Hancock, NY. It has a few names. Peas Eddy Road. Newman Road.

It's made of dirt and gravel. Very few people ever drive it. It is barren, and cuts through some of the most beautiful country you have ever seen.

On one side of the road is a mountain stream. At some points it is 40 or more feet below the road. There are no guardrails. On the other side are hillsides. Rising at times almost sheer, 60 feet about the road.

In many areas, the hillsides are ripe with flowers.

And that brings the butterflies.

Basking in the sun, the flit from one flower to another.

In days gone by.

My young children, my former wife and I would visit there, when we vacationed at the cabin and the lake. Just a few short miles away.

We'd park at an intersection. Not that you would really know it as such. Two roads meeting where nobody ever drove. In the middle of nowhere.

The hillside was wet with spring water that flowed from the mountain. The plants were in bloom. And my children and I would marvel at the butterflies. The dragonflies.

We'd chase them with makeshift nets. Trying to capture the Great Spangled Fritillaries. The Sulphurs. The Monarchs. We'd get a few, take them back to the cabin. Examine them. I'd sketch them. Then we would let them free.

That was almost 20 years ago now.

Since then, my marriage is long over. The kids are grown.

In the last couple of years, I finally returned to the cabin I called home.

And I went to Butterfly Lane.

This time, armed with cameras. Ready to capture the scenes and the gorgeous insects we enjoyed there as a family, so long ago.

I pull my car to the side, and get out. I close the door.

The only sounds I hear are those of the wind. The water running past me in the creek below.

No children. No loving wife.

Just me. My cameras. And a lifetime of memories.

It almost brings me to my knees.

To see this place we all so loved.

When hope was still alive. When the future lay out before us with promise.

The fun. The laughter. The love of a family, sharing the beauty of nature.

I struggle to my feet.

The tears stream down my cheeks.

And I point my camera at the butterflies. The dragonflies. The flowers.

My heart breaks.

And I hit the shutter. I capture what I see. Gorgeous butterflies. Beautiful scenes.

And with every shot I take, I yearn for that future that was not to be.

I stand there sobbing with the best pictures I have ever taken.

With my gut wrenching from the memories.

Because I just cannot yield.

Those days are long gone. And the hope that was went with them.

I stand in this place, alone.

And I scream at the top of my lungs.

Without making a sound.