Peculiar Poinsetta #6

Gah, I can’t remember the poem.

Wynkem, Blynkem and Nod one night sailed off to a silver moon.

That’s how it started at least. I forget the rest. Mom would read us that once in a while. Each one of us would take turns, being Winkem, Blinkem and Nod, trepid adventures who sailed to the land of dreams on a starry ship made of baby’s breath. Or something like that.

We are back again: watching the sunset unfold, almost waiting for our dream alter egos, to sweep us up with sunset ropes of glinted gold. My older sister is leaning against the truck underneath the tree, chewing a piece of grass whose youg stem tastes sweet. My younger one is sitting underneath the oak, humming a song she almost remembers. It's been a while since all of us were lazy togther. I'm the fool--standing in the middle of the street, watching the waves of gold as they slowly fade to night.

Here is where childhood was for us, the old truck, the road and the old farm house, but now through adult eyes, corrupted with age. It sounds too idyllic, but we really did wake up to the rooster crowing and fell asleep to the sound of cicada singing their rough, but comforting song. Sleeping without air-conditioning, and smelling the warm musk of wheat as it ripened. Hard work (most of it involving some kind of manure) took place. 4H Clubs, showing chickens and the trip to the fair, where mid-west romance was set. Boys with farmer's tans, hair bleached by the sun and heat. Smelling of hard work and cheap cologne from Kmart.

But we all went away. Settled. Letting us believe that the steady rythm of childhoods summers would come again, if only we worked hard enough. It’s easy to see that now, waiting for Nod’s glinted rope. The smell of the highway, of tar and gravel and exhaust is right there, waiting for real life travelers to make its use. After the fourth, all of us will take this road, two north and one south. One back to school, the others to jobs that pay the real-world bills.

But we are back here, remembering watching the sun set and talking about superficial things. But all of us secretly waiting, trying to remember, and looking for Nod’s glinted rope.

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
  Sailed off in a wooden shoe—
Sailed on a river of crystal light,
  Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
  The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring fish
  That live in this beautiful sea;
  Nets of silver and gold have we!”
                    Said Wynken,
                    Blynken,
                    And Nod.

http://www.compassrose.org/uptown/wynken-blynken-nod-eugene-field.html