With My Father

My father

had no choice,

but to paint,

nature and nurture,

each in full measure,

assuring his fate.

 

A memory of us:

he lifted me

close to the heavens,

and perched there on his shoulder,

maybe three,

maybe four,

I used words to describe

the clouds

that seemed to be

within fingers’ reach.

 

My father smiled,

in recognition,

in loving wonder.

 

For the desire to still the world,

in paint

or words,

long enough to capture

the momentary magnificence

of a scene,

was ours to share,

in paint,

and in words.

 

Close to the heavens,

with my father.

IMG_4985

Painting: Paul D. Ortlip

 

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “With My Father”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s