Thursday, April 29, 2010

Margaret Egerton: Living Alone on a Hill in Vermont

The View to the West, by D'Ann Fago

Living alone on a hill in Vermont gives me time
to integrate my thoughts. I’m consciously aware
of awe, growing. There’s so little time left . . .
I’m seeking to coordinate the mystery,
living the miracle. I’m pragmatic. I want to
orchestrate the experience of being.
All of it is coming into me . . .
Harmony and balance—
two words I completely adore.

A golden thread runs through
my life: each a new space affords
a panoramic view of what has happened.
There’s a driving force I couldn’t articulate
20 years ago. Just loving, without words
My husband was a business man
who didn’t enjoy being a CEO. He started
as an accountant, went into the Service, stateside.
We moved around. I didn’t put any roots down.
We bought houses and we sold them . . .
I was a city gal until I cam here
and then he left me . . . I was so frightened.
He was stricken. I called Day’s Funeral Home
and asked, “Do you suppose you could find
a place for Henry, some vacant space,
and some for me, his relic . . . or consort?”
All his ancestors were buried up here.
He had an uncle who used to live in Randolph Center.
He traced Egerton to first settlers on the ridge.
I drive by the cemetery three times a week.
I love him. He loved me in his way.

My windows face east and west.
Snow trees on my hillside slope down.
Joy wells up in the presence
of something . . . stupendous.
A big old birch is losing its branches
But it’s still reaching up,
Still reaching up, like me.

—Margaret Egerton


Kelly Green said...

Her book was just completed!

PanamaM said...

Margaret was a delightful person. She always stopped to chat, and smiling, always had a couple of questions. She used words that were sometimes new to me. I remember having to practice saying the word "nonagenerian," and of course having to look it up to be sure I spelled it correctly. One thing I learned from her was to be mindful of your spirit and what the world is offering you.

sam said...

It was a word that brought Aunt Margaret and Uncle Henry together over 70 years ago. In the firm where Margaret worked, a young exec approached her desk one day seeking the meaning (or spelling, I can't quite remember which) of an arcane word: eleemosynary. Yes, it's a real word meaning "of, relating to, or supported by charity."

Margaret came to the rescue, and the rest is history!