My Father’s chair.

Oh, to be snowbound today
blanketed safe from the noise of living,
heavy quiet stilling daily chores,
calling to halt nervous chatter,
busy hands,
icing the burn of loss

I would sit in his chair at the kitchen
window, his lens to a world he once
imbibed, to see his view, one
he will no longer attend

I would watch snow silently lining branches
bend till boney fingers kiss the ground
weighed down by flakes so fragile
until too many rest
one on top of the next,
surrender, and finally,
release to Winter’s call

.

.

.

Author’s Note:

My dad passed through the veil sunday morning while I was away at Mass.

This morning, with the snow bearing down on the Eastern Coast, I saw his empty chair at the window he so enjoy looking out.

I miss him so.

Dad’s view of the world and the tree that brought him so much enjoyment.