This poem was found in a letter to Godfrey, forwarded several times, received months after his passing, we believe from the elusive Sarah..a fond mystery..
She called, welcome old friend!, keep your rambling gear on, and your warm hat of wool so fine, if lacking thermal, Swedish long drawers, you may borrow a pair of mine. We shall then journey west to whale diving rock, you and me, down from these mountains to the coast of B.C.
Oh the dented yellow van is older than we are. It is dampish, brackety, and lacking a fuel gauge. A curmudgeonly smelling, home on wheels slowing her age.
“Tell me a story, share a new song, it has been too long, since we could quietly talk, as I drive the deep forest back roads to whale diving rock.
Tattered journals, shoe boxes of letter-grams, stained books of poems scattered random are our legacy. I the conssumate loner…you the odd lad who could make friends in an empty room, so easily. I have built a fine life in our years apart, but never conformed, never surrendered the vagabond heart.
In our brown muddy boots let us walk, through the deep Taradiddle of Bracken fern, to the cliff face that over looks whale diving rock. December, be storm season, king tides, the surge and the flow. It is all how you wish to perceive it, as we gaze upon whale diving rock far below, which to me resembles the great, rounded back of a whale turned to stone- alone in eternal dive deep.
And you see the whale cavorting in the swell, splashing down with exuberant leap.
May we add this day to the list of pleasure, where time has chosen to wait forever, carry it always in heart and mind, until the next journey we share together.
Notebook pages are damp, I dry them and warm my hands by the fire at our humble camp. My poem is wrinkled from a drip down my neck, dew from mist moistened tarp via fir tree and sheltering Hemlock..but I will sleep deeply, early tonight, lulled by the blow and rumble of whale diving rock…