In this picture we are seated on a log
our positions mirror images
taking shade in a tomato field
a hot Montana afternoon rest
from picking. We drink lemonade.

This next picture taken from the barn
shows us seated side-by-side
repairing my little red wagon
our faces bear witness
to the importance of together.

Page upon page, picture after picture
our lives faithfully recorded:
you dressed in khaki, a white shirt,
boots and a Stetson or yarmulke,
a life set in black and white.

You were the landscape that is home,
the earth and mountains I set compass,
no matter where travels lead, I am never alone.
Your memory remains to still my fear
and be that watchword that tells me who I become.

Lessons you taught me I will always know.
How could I not? The roots have sunk so deep:
you are my book of life, the thoughts I reap,
under my words your voice sings soft and slow.
Only your arms sleep in this world and the next.

"I am not now that which I have been."

~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~
                               noles1@totcon.com             

Sauni :)
Have you ever known the color grey when the nighttime finds you weak
I have, I've walked that road each time; that's where my angel sleeps