Friday, July 11, 2014

A Distant Walk


Dad loved walking.
Had he lived in my town,
Where the terrain is gentle,
He’d surely have stepped out every morning.

He would have loved the changing personality
Of the Pacific Ocean on the coastal reaches
And the boat traffic
On the bay side of the island.

Striding past the multicolored roses
That bloom nine months a year,
And bikers who’d leave the sidewalk
To the senior strollers.

Mom would have frowned,
But my picture would be incomplete without a Lab
Named Ace bouncing at Dad’s side,
Or settled at his feet when Dad stopped for coffee.

It’s nine and the light morning fog will lift,
Bringing another brilliant blue sky,
Obviating any need for a light sweater.
Lets make it a low-trafficked Saturday morning.

Yes, he’d have a favorite bench,
Probably by the ferry landing.
Dad rests, witnesses tourist disembarking,
And smiles to himself.







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