The Cedar Men

  

     The cedar men line the highways and byways of the passages into this world. You can see them poised on the horizon, lining the distant train tracks, lurking in shadow or naked light. They huddle against the cold, battered by the winds or stand burned brown and cinnamon under the heat of the summer sun. Come quietly from the darkness of the forest path into the blazing light of the clearing and you might catch one frozen, hiding still, in the open.

    The cedar men don’t always bleed red sap under a crown of bitter green. The cedar men aren’t always cedar men. Unbound, unnamed, they might form an unexplained shadow on the wall or a haze of mist in the mirror behind the gazer’s reflected image. The cedar men are the hand that touches your shoulder with a grasp so firm that surprise is the only emotion registered when looking behind to see no one there. The cedar men have voices of their own and mischievous fingers that flip switches to darken rooms or fling open kitchen drawers and scramble the contents looking for what they only know. The eye of the camera catches the unexpected glints of blue and mauve, reflected lights of flashing eyes.

     My mother swears that I am her own and I know I am. My mother swears I am hers alone but I know that is not so. I am Wednesday’s child. Tow headed, fair browed, my face is the full strawberry moon that waxes in the darkest sky marked by uneven cat’s eyes. The night finds my dreams in full technicolour flowing into the full light of day. I follow the ways of the enatic line. Those who blaze the brightest exude a heat radiating out to touch. My blood takes a small hand in the untangling of the skeins that flow around us all and rarely we are permitted a clear glimpse of the will and way of things.

     I see the cedar men laid bare from a distance. The tide of glamory hides the essence as the inner eye focuses on the form to define it. All four seasons see the hunched backs and high collars turned up in disguise. The danger lies in lingering too long. Another’s face can become the borrower’s if worn too often or too long. The habit of tree, darkness or lonely echo will become the truth and a cedar man will be no more…but others will take its place. They will come to watch, to warn, to cry and to play in the humming wires, the camera eye, the distance, the dark corners and the empty rooms. Just this side of unseen doors, the cedar men wait for us to pass by, hiding out in the open.

 

 

 

 

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8 thoughts on “The Cedar Men

  1. Just passing by – great picture – Isn\’t \’Love In The Time Of Cholera" a wonderfully crafted and constructed story? Such serendipity. When you get to the end you know that the ending was embedded but hidden in the story from the very beginning. "A Prayer for Owen Meany" is another favorite of mine for the very same reason. Have a great week.
     

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  2. Your writings haven\’t lost any of their impact on me.  I missed viewing your page a lot! I hope evrything is going well, and look forward to catching up.  Take care friend.

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  3. Nice pics, very brooding. We got snow here today. In March. I ask you whats the world coming to. I though global warming meant just that, warming! Craig x

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  4. @Toad
    I heard that my dad was from out that way (we\’ve never met). I haven\’t been but I would love to go.
     
    @Cheryl
    The sky has an infinite number of faces. =)
     
    @Sal
    I was absolutely impressed by Love in the Time of Cholera. It was mentioned in the newspaper and I thought it seemed interesting. I\’m glad I took the time to find it. I do so wonder how much was changed in the translation. I haven\’t heard of A Prayer for Owen Meany. Perhaps I\’ll look it up when I\’m next at the library.
    Thanks
    Lorna
     
    @Rob
    Rob! I had just about given up the ghost. I was so worried about you. I hope all is well. Have you been having great adventures? I\’m looking forward to all the news! =)
     
    @Craig
    Oh no homeowner…are you going to have to go out and buy a snow blower? Well I  guess your March came in like a lion, ours came in like a lamb but I should probably knock on wood if I\’m going to tempt fate like that (I\’ll tap my head, that should be good enough);P
    xx
    Lorna
     

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  5. Being raised in rural Ontario I can appreciate beauty and O ntario , even northern Ontario is hideous compared to Cape Breton Island .  Eastern Quebec and east is breathtaking , absolutely awesome . Frank always told me that civilization ended in Cornwall….

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  6. @Toad
    Well you described Frank as being salt of the earth so I guess I\’ll have to believe you then, lol. Actually I was hoping to drive out there last summer but it didn\’t happen. Maybe next year. As for the dollar to donuts you must be sensing my 17 year acquaintance with my ex father in law. He\’s from the rock and even though he\’s been up here for decades his accent is so thick he might as well be speaking a different language. Over the years I\’ve developed an ear for it but other people sometimes find him difficult to follow bye Lord Jesus and
    t(h)under =)

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