haibun elegy for a jazz musician

from an email to a friend:

 I visited Callaghan’s Rapids for the first time in over a month this chilly morning. No signs of ATVers getting in anywhere (yet). First I went to the falls and found a small bit of trash in the fire pit, but forgot to take a pickup bag. Then I walked the new trail beside the river back to the centre trail. There was some deadfall, but the trail was mostly clear and had obviously been used over the summer.  

Then I took the shortcut trail from the first beach to the bridges. I checked out the small side trail I made in late winter which cuts off that trail, and it had been used as well. 

By the bridges I met Dale, who knows you and was very grateful for all the work you’ve done to protect Callaghan’s from the ATV vandals. He was going back to his spot in the area near the caves to spend a quiet day. 

I don’t know if you met Alan Kingstone, the retired jazz musician who bought the tiny old schoolhouse on Tiffin Road? Yesterday a checkout woman told me he died recently. I believe he was only in his early sixties. I had stopped to visit him several times on my way home from Callaghan’s. He was a very private person, and neighbours finally checked on him when they hadn’t seen I’m in a few days and found him dead. Possibly a heart attack. We never got to play our game of scrabble. 

I stopped by his place on my way home today, and it was sad to see his old blue Subaru, same model as mine, still sitting in his driveway.  

chickadees

crowd the bird feeders

of a dead friend