Coricle
In memory of Jessie Bullens-Crewe
By Becky Bartovics

There is a new and wondrous light in the sky. It comes riding high on the back of the large bear, and is guided there by the bright light of Arcturus. What is that light? Who put it there? It is heaven's beacon for the coricle tossed these many months on the seas - flipped to the tops of waves and slid down the back sides. The coricle is made of seashells and seaweed, pussy willows and found feathers - of osprey and cardinal, warbler and crow - crab claws and seastars, mermaids' purses and pine needles, birch bark sewn together with spider's threads shining with morning dew - an occasional bottle cap and stray piece of spaghetti, a cane and top hat, a whistle and a kite, bubble gum and a song. This coricle is made strong by Neptune's magic, which sparkles as it swirls in the frothy air.

A flock of sanderlings lifts from the shore and flares this way and that, of one mind, one body. They swing to some destiny only they know of, their flight in perfect balance and timing with each other. The undersides of their wings sparkle, a reflection of Neptune's lights. And there, left on the beach are a pair of sneakers - left in place - stepped out of one after the other, no footprints there, none leaving. But these shoes speak the action that no one saw, all have felt.

The child we know has chosen the coricle.

Wind whipped, it lifts off the crest of a wave as Hyakutake swings into sight. Bound to circle our blue green orb to remind us of the miracle of life. Deep sadness of loss is known, so too the joy of discovery. The wonder of the whisper we've just heard from some soft breeze lets us know, no matter how empty we feel, that behind this tree, or that rock, over that wave, in those tall grasses, the light of the life we miss can be encountered. Encountered in a cone, a clicking mussel bed, in the flight of the bufflehead, the song of the bobolink.