Editor:
Today I'm remembering.
Imagining - memories that good fortune and the brave decreed were not to be my own.
The momentous cost of moments lost to tyranny and time.
As when the morning sun obliquely graced the farewell face of a love that was never known.
For once on the train the sun became rain and this son never came home.
Oh, why do I see, these moments not free, this spectre of the end of the line?
For it is I to remember, not just this November.
The brave imagined freedom, and the freedom to imagine is mine.
Joseph Parker
Roberts Creek
