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Hugh B. Scott

@hscott61

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🖊️

In the market of modern hours
nothing is bought more dearly
than a human gaze.

Not gold.
Not oil.
Not land.

Attention.

A thumb flickers downward
through an endless illuminated river,
each current calling itself urgent,
each voice asking
for one more second.

The merchants no longer stand in bazaars.
They live behind glass screens,
measuring heartbeats in clicks,
turning curiosity into currency,
loneliness into engagement,
wonder into metrics.

A child laughs at a dancing cat.
A nation argues in fragments.
A tired doctor scrolls at midnight
searching for silence
and finding only motion.

Somewhere an algorithm learns
which fears hold us longest,
which memories glow brightest,
which sorrows can be interrupted
by advertisements.

And still—

amid the noise,
a handwritten letter survives,
a long conversation at dusk,
a friend listening without reaching
for a glowing machine.

These become acts of rebellion now:
to linger,
to notice,
to give another person
undivided presence.

For what we attend to
quietly becomes our life.

I walked away from the glider, back into my old life. And I thought of the twenty one back on the mountain peak under the little white crosses and the Star of David. Only then and for the first time could I weep.

Shangri-La Diary
By Corporal Margaret Hastings, WAC

https://youtu.be/iFGJ0-rxUIs?si=xv_ocl0f7xiL40QL

https://vimeo.com/18987219

https://archive.org/details/70564-rescue-from-shangrila-vwr by @hscott61

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🫀💔🐚

A Broken Heart Washed Ashore

The ocean keeps what time forgets, and sometimes returns it to us.

The hurricane passed, the waves withdrew, And left behind a world made new. Among the shells and driftwood torn, A little heart lay, weather-worn.

Its silver dulled, its edges scarred, Its journey hidden, its past unguarded. A crack ran through its fragile frame, A wound without a known name.

Perhaps it traveled from Mobile Bay, A keepsake lost along the way. From hands that held it long ago, To distant tides and waters’ flow.

Who gave this heart? Who held it near? What whispered promise once lived here? What love, what loss, what life begun, What memories beneath the sun?

Then came the storm, the wind, the rain, The restless sea released its chain. And after years of darkened blue, The waves returned what time once knew.

Now Mark has found this heart of old, A story cast in tarnished gold. Its broken seam, its weathered face, Still holds a strange and tender grace.

For isn’t that what oceans teach? That lost things sometimes find the beach. That even hearts the world has scarred Can still be beautiful, though marred.

And so it rests upon the shore, A mystery forevermore. No voice to tell us where it’s been— Just waves that whisper, love again.

❤️🌊

Some treasures are valuable because of what they are. Others, because of all the stories they leave us wondering about. by @hscott61

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HM3 Darrell Scott Londeau, United States Navy

Not much is known of Mr. Londeau other than he passed away last year at the age of 66, and his remains were unclaimed. Anyone in the community can come to attend his service at the Beaufort National Cemetery.

https://explorebeaufortsc.com/unclaimed-veteran-being-laid-to-rest-at-beaufort-national-cemetery-4/ by @hscott61

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