What I remember most is your patience.
Your quietness, your soft voice, your gentle ways.
Never in a hurry,
your stride never skipped a beat.
I remember the rhythm of it
up on your shoulders,
high above the world.
The scratchiness of your wool sweaters,
the tickle of your beard against my cheek,
warm, enclosed in a hug.
I remember your letters in the summer.
questions and stories,
of horses and our cat Petey,
of the squirrels in the backyard and
You taught me to see beauty in the smallest things.
You showed me where the peppermint grew at the edge of the old farm field
and whistled like the birds.
Injured animals always made you sad, and still do.
You love snails,
creatures who hug the land,
and you can sit for hours
and watch the waves
or feel the water lapping the sides of a small boat.
You taught me to write, you taught me to read,
you taught me to love the earth.
You taught me to listen,
to the birds, to the bugs,
I love you
Thank you for listening,