Road Closed

I haven’t been down to this spot since last fall, it’s a spot that I’ve visited often since moving to Goose Bay many years ago. It’s known locally as ‘middle-dock,’ the dock between Otter Creek Sea Plane Base and Terrington Basin main dock.

Now, it appears, the area is no longer accessible. The sign to the right says that this area is now owned by a local hunting/fishing/boating club and is under renovation to add in a boat launch. Private. Members only.

I have a lot of history with this space, good and bad.

At the end of this road, which you can’t fully appreciate because of the gate, there’s a small wooden dock and there used to be lots of trees and shrubs. I have spent, most likely, hundreds of hours here over the years observing wildlife and taking the time to let my overthinking brain heal.

This spot held a first kiss. It has held buckets of tears. It has held nights of starry skies and northern lights observances. This spot has held unwanted advances, and thoughts of packing it in and moving away. Cup after cup of coffee. Silent moments observing wild ducks and geese, and seasonal photo taking of float planes and summer adventurers.

I’ve had more experiences at this dock than is kosher to share with you; some deep, buried experiences that are between me and the air that surrounds me. I always attached those hard experiences with the space, but now that I’m blocked from visiting the spot, I realize that it wasn’t the space that hurt or held me, it was me.

It’s time to forgive the spaces that are frozen in my memory, attached to negative thoughts. This is no longer useful to me. We leave our mark on every space we occupy, and we take photos so that we don’t forget that moment in time.

Letting my grievances float away with the wind..

M.

knowledge keeper

I wish I could talk to my nan now, and ask her more focussed questions about life. I want 35 year old me to see life through her eyes. I did not have these questions in my early 20s. Did I learn everything I could learn with the time I had? I don’t think I came close.

small harbour

color me atavistic
i can fit here beside
these bottles – these knives
open up your lonely eyes
we will not be pardoned by sunlight
instead the valley
of sea salted bones
of those before
who knew the way of kindness
of necessity
you drew them out
and bled them dry
now white washed houses
and well worn shoes
sit collecting dust
in this harbour
wrestling the changing tides
with cotton gloves
and rusted anchors.

M.