I remember…

The first time I saw it.

There are no words

To describe it well.

Parents, elders,

No one had prepared me.

I had heard the stories…

None adequate.

To understand,

One must experience it.

The English brought smallpox…

Few escaped it.

Now… I have felt it 

Yet, understand it less.

Maybe, It’s just illusion.

Its name…

Is death.

Chuck’s new book, A Storm Coming, won a Chaucer award, from Chanticleer Book Reviews. A retired educator, speaker, blogger, and pastor, he shares on @Chuck.Lizzy with the love of his life, Lizzy. Chuck is a member of the Lumbee Tribe of North Carolinia.

“Jane, what are you thinking?” Annwaraogon patted me on the cheek to get my attention. “It seems you’re lost in thought again.”

I put my hand over hers and pulled it to my lap. “I was thinking about loss… about missing my mother… about change.”

“I wish the pines… could calm my desperate feeling about what is coming.”

Annwaraogon stared beyond me, into the distance, deep in thought.

“So much change.” I listen to the wind whisper through the pine trees surrounding us. “I was just getting used to fall, and it will soon leave us. Though, I suspect winter will take my breath away with its beauty.”

I patted my aunt’s hand and gave it back to her. “I wish the pines had a story for me, and could calm my desperate feeling about what is coming.”

Also see On a Hillside.

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