House of Darkness House of Light

Sometime soon thereafter, word reached their family. Mr. Kenyon passed away. It had been his final visit to the farm. He’d come to say goodbye to his beloved home and those he had entrusted it with in his time. Tears were shed by all for a man they barely knew but cherished like family. Roger did not want his loved ones to watch him grieve. Instead, he went for a solitary walk in the same woods where last he’d listened to the voice of an old soul telling his story, sharing his secrets, bidding goodbye in his own quiet way. Roger’s eyes were moist with the loss. He was overcome with remorse. As he walked he seemed guided to the pine forest portal, there to say goodbye to his friend. This was a loss for all of them but Roger felt it most profoundly. There are encounters in life which leave a remarkable impression, a mark on the heart of those they’ve touched before departing. Earl Kenyon was a gentleman and a true friend of the family, gracing them with his presence. He remains with them still as a meaningful part of their lives so many decades after his death. At its essence, friendship is eternal.

Reaching toward the Sun for inspiration, at that time a grove of Northern pine was not such an unusual sight in Rhode Island but this was one unusual grove. In perfect alignment, flawless trees practicing the presence of God as woods, as if lined up in the pews of a church, it was a holy place. Cautious as ever, mindful of each step taken, Roger knew it was somehow sacrilegious to wound the lilies of this valley. After studying sacred trees the man he knew had planted by hand and nurtured with loving care, Roger moved on to the cellar hole, there to further mourn his loss. He could almost hear the crack of whips on the old wagon road, oxen pulling their load up the steep, climbing hill from a river’s edge. To have had the privilege of listening, learning from Mr. Kenyon, to hear him describe life as it was so long ago, seemingly so far away from his own time, had been a gift. The memories left Roger feeling sentimental; nostalgic as well as bereft. He was grateful to have seen the man one last time…to have shared their walk in the woods. It was there where he felt closest to God and where he made his peace with the maker of it all. This was the place where he could speak to the Universe and receive his answers on the wind. Though Roger knew he’d lost someone of special significance, someone he already missed, his companion had graced him with the memory of one final excursion together. It was as if he could still hear a voice on the breeze, whispering goodbye…or hello. Roger remains humbled by a spiritual experience he cherishes, so gratified knowing Mr. Kenyon left a final set of footprints on his land, on hallowed ground, a trail that can be followed all the way to Heaven and beyond…all the way home. God rest his soul.