Yesterday I went tot he Grist Mill in Seekonk to meet up with my reunion class from Saint Xavier's Academy. A small group meets every month --weather permitting. This was supposed to be on the last day of February, but when I appeared there at Noon I was told there was no reservation for the group. I sat alone for a minute and then asked whether they had been there the day before and the hostess said yes. So -- They said the last day of February-- and I wrote 29 down because of Leap Year but they met on the 28th. I stood to depart and then I stopped.
I f you don't know it the Grist Mill is perched on a lovely spot, a small falls of the Runnins River. It has been there a long time and on this day we were having a little snow. The grey tone of the sky, the water, the arching bridge, the stone walls, the gulls, the geese and the two immense swans were assuming a picture of unmixed harmonies of white, grey, charcoal, silver, and black that Whistler would have delighted in.
So I thought why rush out--this is a gift of a solitary lunch in a perfect place. I asked for and was seated by the window bedside the falls. The sound and motion of the water danced outside the window and inside the aroma of cooking and the wood smoke from the stone hearth fireplace made a delicious contrast.
I went home and wrote this the first day of March and I did not post it. As my readers may know the Grist Mill has been destroyed by a passing truck and an explosion. I cannot even look when I drive by now. How I hope that something beautiful and appropriate will be erected there.