Changing it up in the pines

valentines among the pines


by Mark Coulbourn



a group

we mourn anne with fire and ash this day

a bunch

we remember anne that special way

a man

cries; his heart, I hear it flow

a girl

 tugs daddy’s hand, she shakes and pulls

a mother

anne’s heart spilled here last valentines’


Anne’s Path:

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.


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