The shadows fall and
all in all
nightfall
will soon be upon us.

The campfires
smoking
giving the darkness
a grayish tinge.

This Split juts
out into the Fundy Bay,
now with the sun gone
it will grow even colder.


Low laying clouds
mingle with the smoke,
if you remain quiet
you can hear more that the crackle
of the burning wood.

From behind the trees,
something eerie
to make you shiver.
To let you know you are in the wild.

A stream runs through the woods.
The fresh water for the morning coffee
has already been drawn,
plastic jugs and canteens full.

There are bears
and coyotes and deer 
out here,
but in all the time
coming out to
this breath taking cliff
I have never run into either.

This time I have come
with a purpose other than
the fresh air and sounds of the ocean
far below.

My father's last wish,
to have his ashes
scattered over the side
to the rocks and water.

This is where he grew up,
the small village at the base of the cliff.
I was born here and I never called it home.
Now I am proud to come from such
a beautiful place.

My mother, a native,
my father, an import from Boston.
So much history needing to be sifted through.
So much a mystery when it comes to my Dad.

A plaque will adorn the small cemetery,
with my fathers full name,
-Irving Richard MacPherson-
My mother already buried there.

He never liked his name
so he called himself Richard.
Now I find myself choosing Irving
over Kenneth for mine.

I will die and when I do
I will join my father
in the vastness of the Atlantic.
Such a beautiful end to a good life.