My First Time

In April of nineteen-sixty-five I took Horace Greely’s advice and went west to Vancouver, the beautiful city cradled by the mountains and the sea. Along the way I met many interesting people; among them were a doctor and his family, leaving the political and racial upheavals of South Africa behind, to make a new home on Canada’s wide prairie lands. There was a civil servant from Ottawa, on his summer vacation, a young soldier returning to his barracks, and a pair of beautiful prairie princesses, one with hair, dark and shiny as a raven’s wing, the other, crowned with curls brighter than the sun.

To me, a wet behind the ears kid from a small northern Ontario village; who’s only experiences   in the big wide world up to then, were a few short stints in Toronto, this incredible journey of discovery across my beloved land was an eye opener.

Man years have flowed over the dam of time since those long ago days of wonder, but some of my memories are still as fresh as spring’s first violets, entering into Vancouver, a city I fell in love with instantly, and my first glimpse of the incredible Rocky Mountains. It is to that special moment I have dedicated this poor attempt at poetry.

In majestic splendour,
snow-capped peaks
thrust themselves deep
into the blue morning sky.

Towering, overpowering,
I am overwhelmed
by my insignificance,
by my mortality.

I turn to see, if others,
if my fellow travelers
are awake, I wish to share
this magic moment.

But they have their eyes closed,
still buried deep in slumber.

As I look in awe,
I wonder,
will it be like this for others,
when it is their first time?




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Filed under essay, Literary, narrative, non-fiction

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