He went by the quieter way
nothing so annoying as small town tourist traffic feeding sharks, two local police SUV’s flashing lights clog main street to harass some elderly New Yorker who double parked to drop a letter in the post box. A quick drop off now in true police wisdom blocks the intersection for at least a half hour. Gallows hill brought him out behind all that. Right turn then left past the cemetery regiment GAR, immigrant Ireland, Poland, Italy, Japan, sisters, brothers, priests and the girl with the funny name, *Kelsley who had the same surname as he. How many years how many cemetery miles walked, and other than his own direct family never seen his own surname upon the stone? Right again, past the frozen pond where this past autumn ducks, herons, seabirds , turtles and G-E-E-S-E! spotted by the child. Then between the two smaller ponds, either side of the school drive way. It was there they’d stopped, watch the first beaver she had ever seen, keen eyes of hers noticed ripples on the water as they were heading home after her first day in American school.
He’d stopped the car along the roadside. They stood there for about a half hour before Mr. Beaver disappeared. At the top of the hill turned yet again into the parking lot, parked. Waiting watching for signs of school being over, made notes in a black notebook heard a radio interview and live music Madeleine Peyroux. Had been certain it was Billie Holiday. Listen now, maybe playing local, the wife would love that. It was greying up again cold enough to cause his fingers pain. Few more minutes and the little treasure would be his again
* Kelsley A. Lyons