POETRY : FIRST PLACE ( TIE )

Colleen Sayer

She longed for the quiet silence of the farm and the open country spaces where she would spend mornings in her own flower beds and vegetable garden . She didn ’ t mind bending her back to pull the nasty weeds and she enjoyed watching the sun creep across the sky as it faded into glorious sunsets . Why couldn ’ t she have stayed there ? Of course , it was out of the question they said . It was too much work for her alone , after Marv had passed on . The kids were all living in tiny spaces of apartments with concrete and glass . She would never survive in their worlds .

And so , she sat , relishing all the moments she could escape those whitewashed walls that seemed to be closing in on her . Here she could sit and hear the peace , smell the fragrances of the flower garden , and reminisce about the better times gone by .

“ Helen ? Helen ? We ’ ve been looking for you …”

She heard them , but she continued to sit and keep her eyes closed . Just a few more moments please in my little plot of

paradise , she thought . each morning I awaken to the strains of the cottage symphony : it begins with the soft breeze whispering through the pines and builds to a crescendo of poplar leaves rustling from lofty heights ; suddenly the opening phrases are punctuated by the staccato beat of a hungry woodpecker in search of breakfast ; far off across the glassy surface of the lake the haunting cry of a loon and an echoed reply lend a melancholy note to the score , while the ceaseless lapping of waves against the shore adds a gentle cadence of its own ; the insistent chattering of a chipmunk perched on a nearby tree stump brings a cheerful counterpoint to the piece , as does the merry crackling of the fire in the wood stove ; and as I lie here , snug and warm beneath the covers , I revel in the sounds of the cottage symphony

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