When the time comes

When the time comes – for Charlotte

When I think of Charlotte – and I do all the time, especially when I pass the turning to nearby Charlottetown (I love the idea of Charlotte having her own town!), I think of her generosity of spirit, of friendship, of talent, of time; the way she wrinkled her nose; and, of course, her signature red and black fashion style.

I think she would have liked the poem When the time comes by my friend Anne Caldwell (from Talking with the Dead).


                                Surround me
with a feathered quilt of friends,
then shoo them out. Feed me slivers of
ripe mango, find a way to swiftly chill Chablis.


A splash/dash of red, Thomson’s Tower in Dr. Neil’s Garden, Edinburgh (2013)


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