Dreams live on

When I was 26 or so, I used to go swimming at a place they called pinion. This fabulous swimming hole was about 10 miles from town and it was just beautiful. The river rocks used to fascinate me to no end. In fact I loaded up a bunch of them and built a rockin flower bed.

That's what I called it...rockin.

I even got hired by a housing contractor to bring in a bunch of them for Oliver Stone's cabin, that was being built outside of Telluride...they were beautiful and they made his fireplace a site to see. I think he got his $90's worth.

Anyway

I used to go swimming at pinion and on the way in you passed an old cabin that was falling down. I noticed several years in a row, that there were lilacs blooming every spring when I would take my dogs out to swim in the creek. It was too cold for a wimp like me...the water was fresh off of the mountain. I had to wait till mid July before I could force myself in. I could however sit for hours up there by the creek, there were only peaceful sounds and you could think without interruption for days I suppose.

Every time I would drive by the old cabin I would get a little sad...I wondered who lived there? Were they happy? Where did they go? It was after all, a beautiful place to live.

Jump ahead 10 years...I found out who used to live there.

My mom and her family. Her mom died shortly after they moved out of the cabin and moved into town. Grandma Ellen died of leukemia in 1953, my mom was 7.

This is the latest thing that my mom has sent to me to haunt me till my dying days. Funny thing is...the crazy bitch doesn't know that I used to hang out at the cabin. My Auntie told me, years after my time up there that, that is where they lived for a while.

Dreams live on

The walls of the old old cabin were weathered soft and brown.

The creek still sang by the doorway.

The fences were crumbling down.

The plowed ground taken over by the wild brush.

A dream here that proved to be in vain.

But straight and tall by the doorway the lilacs were

blooming again.

You could tell by the look of the cabin the years had been

many and long.

But a dream still lived in the lilacs long after the dreamer was gone.

Ellen Davis 1916-1953

My Grandma Ellen was a bit of a poet in her time. She had a few of her poems published. Although I couldn't tell you where.