~ Warm sunlight and gentle air on bare skin.
~ The rhyming language of the woodpecker and the squirrel.
~ A possible confusion between acceptance versus denial.
~ 1940s vintage Navy peacoat, missing button.
~ Doves in the tallows, like newspaper on a windy day.
~ A puzzlement that cemeteries are so much lovelier than where the living live.
~ The bright arc of the space station overhead just after sunset.
~ Thanksgiving Day and a Significant birthday bookended by two more momentous events.
~ Not Family.
~ Details assiduously attended, from within a serene and drowsy stupor.
~ The exchange of poetry with a distant brother.
~ Old photos.
~ Sustained eye contact with a kneeling officer, speaking On Behalf of the President of the United States.
~ Ariel's song, and "Stop all the clocks."
~ Another birthday.
~ Missing aikido. (Again.) (Still.)
~ Genealogy, and echoes.
~ The problem of the folded flag, never to fly again.
~ Processes and passages. Pumpkin pie and preserves.
14 Days and 21 Lines After the Death of the Author's Father
Still Point Aikido Systems
Austin TX, USA