I am not sure if it is the breeze,
wilder, more freeing than any in the city,
or the wintergreen sending its scent
up to play with the blueberries and pine
that brings on this longing afresh.
You would perch yourself on a ridge
like this one overlooking the lake
or a forested horizon, endless to me,
and explain how the horses would trail
over the opposite ridge or
how they used to graze in the pasture
beyond that overgrown farm field,
how you’d camp between those two trees
when you were twelve, or on the beach.
Even though this is a different woods,
new to you, I am somehow certain
you would have such stories to tell.
You’d pause to take in the air, deep
and daydreamy, with your easy
swing of a step that said
you were not in the city, no, not today.
You’d skim your hand over the leaves
and look to the sky to tell me the time.
Poems from in between 
10 responses to “When walking through woods without my father”
Twenty-two years later, I still have conversations with mine.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes. It is like that with my mother. My father is still with us, but no longer able to climb through the woods with me. I am trying to get used to that.
Thanks always for your thoughtful conversation.
LikeLiked by 1 person
it’s a lovely poem for its imagery and the description of your relationship with your father. this image tells me so much about him: “with your easy/ swing of a step.” The closing couplet is moving — the idea of time and how it takes away people who we love.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. So glad you liked it. It came rather quickly and that always gives me doubts. But I also think ‘family’ poems have a whole different thing going on in them, and you just gotta let them go their own way. I think …
LikeLiked by 1 person
Heartfelt and beautiful. I feel like I am intimately familiar with the subject of the poem after reading.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks so much!
LikeLike
I love how those little framing mentions of the city make the freedom even more so. And how lightly and lovingly you sketch your father. Those last two lines are especially beautiful.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. I am glad you saw the gentle side. It is not very often obvious to those who know him well. But it is there!
LikeLike
Our memories of those who mean so much to us are personal, yet can transcend that intimacy to mean something to strangers. Your use of details and visuals make your walk in the woods real, and your image of your father something the reader can relate to. Lovely 🙂
LikeLike
Thank you very much. It is always a worry to be sentimental without just being all weepy. But sentimental still needs to be said. Thanks for your attentive reading.
Sent from my iPhone
>
LikeLike