The Real Thing

Of all the gems and bijoux I’ve ever had DJA is the only one irreplaceable. He is the keel of my meaning. I won’t deny I can at times be more ornamental than he; but he is what fastens the foundation and keeps us afloat, going in the right direction with the wind always at our backs and in our sails. When the sun sets and the gloom of the evening overtakes, the diminished brightness of the day narrows the perspective and highlights what is crucial. There is no one else left in the room.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky…

“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, T. S. Eliot

It is a catalogue of memories arising from almost every day for the past twenty-four years, unimaginable recollections, a history of remarkable and seemingly endless fortuity. From walking into the Hudson River on a foggy March evening; trolling Madison Avenue among the relics; helicopter on the Dominican Republic along the Caribbean coast; then years later wending across the flat open beaches of Hilton Head Island; and most recently soaring above the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico; and always happily returning to our cherished Almonte and friends.

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs
About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green…

‘Fern Hill”, Dylan Thomas