Interesting to discover a 19th Century advertising illustrator who knew the myth of Leda and the swan.

Evans’ Rag

Vol 2 Issue 27

4th of July on the Outer Banks

A number of years ago, sitting mornings on this same deck perched on a high dune above the ocean, I witnessed a family across the street in one of the many rentals. It was the 4th of July and the Iraq and Afghanistan wars were still stumbling on, politicians claiming victories not in sight, spies listening to private conversations they had no business hearing, young Muslim rebels living out lives they believed were unique, dying by drones and laser-guided missiles.

Out on the deck across the way, a mother was teaching her toddler to speak, and I speculated on both the family and the day at hand. The poem, Fourth of July 2011 originally was included in Not to Touch published in 2014.

I spent as much time as I could on the deck back then, winter into summer, as often as I could afford to take time away from the architecture firm, always with Mojo, deck dog by the chair. And wrote poems. Five books worth in all. In the middle of a grief that didn’t seem would ever go away, a good ten years or more.

It’s been thirteen summers on this same deck, but this year there’s a for-sale sign in the yard, and we’re going to closing shortly, selling to a man from Idaho we’ve never spoken to except through realtors and a laid back island lawyer.

I can’t say the propelling motivation behind the poems was more than a means to survive–but living on the Outer Banks has become just as intrinsic. It will be sad pulling away from the driveway for the last time.