A thoughtful and evocative piece:
“P.S. Life is sweet . . . don’t mourn.”
sing
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My father passed away this past December. He would have been 70 in May of this year. In her searching of the shed, my mother found a paddle that he bought in the mid 70s before I was born. He had bought an inflatable raft with a kayak paddle that didn’t last long before it popped. The boat I never saw (it was gone before I was born), but the paddle is still here. She might bring it by this Sunday. Maybe when I go up to Profile Lake at Cannon Mountain (a spot he used to ski every day back in the mid 70s), I can use this paddle for a bit.
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Nice… I don’t have memories of moments outdoors with my Dad (he worked hard to support us and died young). But, I think of him often when I am outdoors, when my mind drifts to thoughts of meaning, connection, legacy.
Happy fathers’ day.
sing