So, day three on the planet without a living parent.  Strange story to nurture.  I’ve been talking and walking with my mom many years since she died.  I just get the feeling that dad has a lot of flying to do, flexing and running and soaring and twisting and eating.  It has been so long since he’d done any of that in the tired body he was so reluctant to leave.

The seasons change.  Small angelic blossoms transform to tight green globes with blushing red.  The sun slowly retreats to the south.  Leaves start falling gold on green grass.  Just seasons that don’t create weeping, funeral services or awkward aching phone calls.

The idea today is to surrender to change.  Absurd trust in the flow of the River.  To stop thrashing and story-telling and just relax in my little inner tube and let the current take me.  Deep forest cool shadows.  Hot bright summer sun.  Dad gone.  New stories are uncovered.  Siblings emerge from long ago and far away.

Traces of love on everything.