valentines among the pines
by Mark Coulbourn
we mourn anne with fire and ash this day
we remember anne that special way
cries; his heart, I hear it flow
tugs daddy’s hand, she shakes and pulls
anne’s heart spilled here last valentines’
Anne took her last breath among these stones and fertile pines.
These words etched in stoned and clear for area bikers and hikers to recognize. It was such a beautiful message and indeed made me take pause before I continued along my own adventure. It was also a message, a warning of sorts that mother nature; however grand, is ruthless. I didn’t have any idea who Anne was, where she came from. I didn’t; I don’t, know anything about her; but, I did know, or at least had an idea, that Anne died while on a hike or a bike ride on this fresh rocky trail, the same one that I was enjoying. As I, and my bike, bounced along the trails of greater Rockport, I thought of Anne. Maybe, she was much like me but simply fell on the wrong rock, hit the trail just a bit harder than I, who also fell in this same area. Why not me, instead?
I wouldn’t really label myself a particularly sentimental or sappy guy, but it was sorta hard not to get at least a little choked up about Anne. Maybe it was how the light shimmered across her monument. It has now been under a year since I was zipping around those trails, but I won’t forget that monument. I forget Anne. Was Anne, a kid? Was she a young woman? A mother of mothers? I will never know; but I will know that she was a person, she was appreciated; she was loved, for sure. More than once, I have wanted to chastise this woman, this girl, Anne, for not wearing her helmet. She shouldn’t have…she shouldn’t have gotten herself killed.