From Paradise to Sunrise

I had a free day last week so I spend it getting reacquainted with central Minnesota along and near Highway 65.

When I was thirty years old I’d actually biked an 80 mile stretch of it a couple of times to a rented a log cabin a few miles north of Mora. The cabin was on the verge of falling down, but was in a beautiful location. I couldn’t remember exactly where it was—things had changed just enough that I didn’t find it—perhaps it had been torn down. I did take a walk around in the town, however. The movie house had gotten a new coat of paint, but otherwise not much had changed. I also stopped at a quite mad boutique a few miles outside of town (see previous post).

About twenty-five miles southeast of Mora is the township of Sunrise (birthplace of actor Richard Widmark). It adjoins Wild River State Park, a place popular with boaters and hikers in a quiet, low-key way. There are a couple of rivers winding through it which I thought I’d check it out for a possible future canoe trip.  Along one edge of the park is a small pioneer cemetery nestled among the trees. I don’t have any relatives buried in it, but a few months ago I discovered that one of my college friends had been interred there. Of course, I just had to stop.

It was a beautiful place, and was as peaceful as my friend’s life had been turbulent. I hadn’t helped it any either, our relationship was always stormy—mostly due to my cluelessness.  Although in reality I was standing six feet away from what was left of her, she is always in a little corner of my heart: alive; young; the brightest light of my darkest day.

Regret is a fool's indulgence.

As I stood there, in the sunlight dappled pine duff, the whispering of the trees seemed to be saying, speaking to me in her raspy voice: “It’s alright now, everything is alright.”