Dad slipped away quietly in his sleep today. He was 88. Now he and Mom are reunited and as joyful as two butterflies I watched circling each other as they rose straight up towards the shining sun. I wrote this poem in April 2003.
I am older than that Trickster Time
and his mercurial Mother Nature-
older than the stars and Earth
in continuous, evolving creation
with its dramas of rebirth.
I am part of ageless Spirit-
even in this ever-aging body of mine.
Yet when I greet my Dad
I become a child of three
with love-bright eyes and trusting hand.
He’s a humble man of inner strengths,
inspiring and reminding.
I’ve watched his quiet patience
master time and circumstance.
Dad is the northern wilderness to me,
the forests, the water, and the land I love.
Like a little child I see
through my heart when I greet Dad.