Heritage Man

Sep 2011

Spring.

Tourist ships started arriving.

They could be heard before being seen.

A strident noise coming out of the fog.

At Ogden Point.

Travellers disgorged into waiting buses.

Others took rides in horse and carriages,

Soon the jingle of harness and clop of horses hooves

echoed down South Turner,

To view Heritage houses.

The old man and his dog Go-go

Took their daily rest on a screened porch

Looking out to view the newcomers.

Through picket fence tourists stared at the beautiful yard.

The sign at the gate said Heritage House

But to the old man it was home.

He was almost as old as the house.

In  jest he wondered if he could be called Heritage Man.

The visits continued all summer.

His wife had gardened with animism devotion,

Convinced all plants and animals had souls.

Over the years the roses and trees responded to her touch.

The two enjoyed the birds that used their yard.

Colourful Hummingbirds, chattering Bushtits, friendly Robins

songs of Wrens. The crows annoyed them.

A lively yard.

It attracted unwanted attention.

 

But she was gone now

Some five months past.

In his grief

He promised to keep her yard growing.

He resented the tourists and his aging body.

He felt as trapped as a bird in a cage.

With a touch of humour

He renamed his once active dog Go-Go to No-Go.

It too had become old.

 

Autumn arrived.

A FOR SALE sign appeared on his lawn.

He had become absorbed into the System.

Just another old person - waiting.

 

Hazel Ross