Stonecutter’s Almanac: Memorial Day

5/26/25 — Memorial Day

The sun is out
after days of clouds and rain.
Birds are singing
a tune I can’t hum.
A breeze from the south,
straight out to sea from my perspective,
pushes waves rhythmically into this granite cove.

Across the water,
tailings from an old quarry line the shore.
A perfectly level line traces the height of high tide—
bleached salt-and-pepper granite above,
as dark as the spruce forest below.

The stone I’m working today came from a different quarry,
around the corner by boat,
or a short drive down the road.

I try not to hit the weathered faces with the chisels.
I don’t want the whiteness of fresh granite
to break the spell of timelessness.
I’m trying to create the illusion that these stones have always been here,
retaining space for this fire pit—
as if my hands have never touched them,
as if I was never here.

I’m too tired today
to give much thought to the men who handled these stones before me,
all those years ago.

They gave no thought of me.

But it’s easier to think of the past than the future.