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A Son Reaches For His Father's Hand

A Son Reaches For His Father's Hand

As they walk,
A son reaches
for his father's hand,
barely able to brush his fingertips.
Only sometime later,
the father wraps his fingers
around his son's
fallen hand.

The son looks into his father's eyes.
The father looks down,
a tear is heard
as it falls onto the clay soil.

The son tries hard
to move his legs fast,
to follow each of his father's strides.
The father looks down,
finally he adjusts his gait.
His son relieved,
breathes normally once more,
as he gratefully finds his pace.

At the woods' edge
the father chooses the path to the left.
Soon they are out of sight.

They see tall trees, fallen trees, rocks, mushrooms,
one beaver, two fawns,
three ponds with frogs and the like.
The son feels both excited and at peace
as they start on one of the trails back.
But this time the son gets to choose,
left or right.

During the entire walk
through serenity,
neither spoke.

They came to the grassland,
no longer just father and son,
as they had begun.
They returned
forever
spliced into one.

A simple walk in the woods,
by themselves in nature's blessed bosom,

[...] Read more

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