|Sitting at the bottom, very small looking.|
Half of the Mayflower immigrants died by the end of the first year. They were buried under a cornfield in an attempt to hide the fact of their diminished numbers from the Indians. The ones who died in subsequent years were buried on the top of this hill. Likely above the bones of Indians. Tragic times for them as well. All looked across that worrisome blue sea.
I can wander with a stillness about me, pause to breathe the chill air and look to see what my ancestors may have seen on a cold day on a hill of grief.
I can catch birds, not startled by a swarm of summer folk.
|Red Breasted Merganser|