>> Wednesday, April 11, 2012 – autumn, chestnut hill resevoir, Contemplative, death, Franco Garcia, the lake
In Memory of Franco Garcia
Pulled from the Reservoir 4/11/2012
Your path was short, but you are home.
Our shoes make a satisfying crunch in the sandy gravel as we follow the lakeside path. Side by side we walk through the early morning mist that hugs the orange and golden hued trees. The air is still in the early morning half-light and does not yet carry a hint of winter’s arrival. We chose this path instead of our typical indoor gym routine the moment we stepped outside. The fall air so welcoming that we could not refuse it. It was a shared thought that Paul vocalized “Let’s walk around the Reservoir together instead”.
As if to highlight how separate we are at that moment, Paul abruptly says “Don’t refill the soap containers.” I laugh, because this is something I would never think to do anyway. Do people refill soap containers? I think to myself. Maybe it’s because we have chosen a different routine this morning that makes Paul think that I will continue to do things out of the ordinary.
Every week I would mow The Harrell’s yard. After so many years I knew the routine. Eventually Mr. Harrell would no longer need to tell me what to do. Trim the ivy on the hill in the spring. Empty the gutters in the fall. Clean out the lawnmower before putting it to rest in the winter.
“It’s good to mix things up” I say. “I used to be good at cooking. Its fall, it seems right.”