This poem was written a year after my wonderful "eeyore" dad died. It was lost for a long time, and I felt I had lost him again. He is still missed.

My Father Was a Quiet Man My Father 1915-1988 My father was a quiet man; many Sailors are. Behind his self-effacing smile was the ever-watchful and canny observer of the wind, sky and changing sea. Sensitivity to the slightest movement of wave or the intensity of light was the hallmark of the artist's eye. His ear, too, had a propensity for subtle nuances. His mimicking of dialect, and his ability to catch the rhythm and fluidity of language while he was storytelling, brought life to long dead ancestors. Laughter, music: life ends; these gifts are forever. Ruminations on Light Changing light and changing moods Memories triggered by navy shadows on sparkling snow. The sap is rising! The winter in my soul is giving way to spring. Bright sunlight and lively shadows on the shrinking snow. Sweet syrup boiling; New Hampshire tugs at my mind and I have the urge to sing. The shadows fade to a faint, dull grey. The sky becomes as murky as the roadside snow. A weak band of aqua loses its battle with the thickening clouds. My spirits and the light are diminishing. Once again the clouds lift and I am warmed By the brightness of the sun. Snatches of thoughts, dreams, ideas tumble in my head. I drive on towards spring; Mood shifting, spirits lifting. The light; ever the light; Trickles of it dancing around. Dappling the birch copse; bubbling on the brook, "Dawn cracks; evening falls", moving, always moving, light.

~back~ next~ home~
~ Collaborative ~ Archives ~ Journal ~