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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