the deepening ground

For the first time in at least five years, my wife and I escaped for a five-day getaway to celebrate our anniversary. Our destination: Presque Isle, Pennsylvania. Our only goal: time to be quiet and enjoy the gift of one another and the beauty of creation. We were dazzled by the stones and small shells on the beaches, the nickel-sized hail on Tuesday morning, and the avian wonders we encountered while biking or exploring the island (including two bald eagles, two wild turkeys, a family of osprey, and at least one spotted sandpiper). We found our time in nature far more rewarding than any experience in Erie itself (though I could certainly eat one more Bro Man’s Smash Burger and wouldn’t begrudge another twist cone at Whippy Dip 2)!

Once the stormy winds passed by Wednesday, we made our way to the beach and enjoyed long walks along the coastline or sitting in our chairs doing absolutely nothing. Rather than dive into my book (or the water), I pulled out my Winnie the Pooh pocket notebook and captured a few disjointed thoughts. Now, having given myself the permission to sit with those thoughts and write, I have something that captures the essence of this experience for me as well as a reminder of the mystery of marriage, how it transforms and makes smooth “by the weight and current of time” and the rare gift that is to share with one person for three decades. As our children reminded us, we are a monument, a lighthouse still lit amidst life’s stormy seas. Here’s to another thirty, my love!

Monument: Presque Isle, PA

Monument: Presque Isle, PA
by Vincent H. Anastasi 7/28/26
(on our 30th anniversary)

We’ve escaped the asphyxiation of asphalt,
the cacophony of concrete jungles,
the mad busyness of daily business
to rest here for a time at the water’s edge
where lake laps land and jewels
the beach with pebbled marvels
inspiring “this need to dance;
this need to kneel” in the susurrant peace
of sifting hands through smoothed stones –
garnet gneiss, milky quartz, and dolomite –
perpetually tumbled and bathed by waves
that rumble and fizz, spilling out on the beach,
revealing gems more resplendent in sun.
The waters wash our feet;

these stones our daily bread.
We have come into the joy of the ordinary
in the company of geese, gulls, and sandpipers
(and monarchs that brave lake winds),
where human footprints are indistinct craters in sand,
motorboats and yachts mere specks on the horizon,
and even the sailboat taming wind passes
beyond the stone jetties, silent and small
on the lake’s ever-changing emerald expanse.
We remain together alone, a one-flesh memorial
transformed, made smooth by the weight and current of time,
a metamorphic marvel more wondrous
than our maniacal modern meccas
or just a piece of well-polished beach glass.

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