Dying Embers Rising Son

We are by the sea in the East and have been here the past three days inside a cottage on fishermans row.  I wake  and tiptoe down stairs in the cottage smell of woodfire . The front room is  tinged with the red dying embers from the hearth and the Dawn Chorus beginsreminding me of dawn chorus’s of  ...the cockerels  in   The Gambia at twenty one years of age when I found my Ethiopian mother........ in the Simeon mountains in Ethiopia  attwenty nine  when I found my father’s  plane and his final resting place......... in Upstate New York in Carmel amongst   wild deer outside my cousins at a gathering of my father’s  shocked family on thanksgiving at thirty     years of age..... ..... in Dakar Senegal, at thirty two years of age when I  found my sister on my mother’s  side...  and finally above the rooftops of Paris at my sisters apartment in Trocadero..

It begins this morning, birdsong  in the foreground and background. Yesterday  and tomorrow mingle. On leaving the children homes at eighteen I began the search. Between  the ages of twenty one and thirty three I found every single member of  my family all over the world.   For the rest of my life I shall live with the  consequences.   If I close my eyes  beneath the birdsong I can hear the sea.  There is nothing to find anymore except  discovery in every minute of every second of every day. My hand curls around the warmth of the mug and morning breaks.

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