| Two Boys Climbing
The quest was not for words not said,
on rocky, trying trails ahead.
Any climb would serve just fine.
Wolves and winds would howl and moan.
Insect bites caused us to groan.
On our own, the trials are fine.
He pulled me up and flashed a glance.
I nodded back and grinned askance.
The day was cool, the journey fine.
Place and time were trivial.
Sharing the reach, convivial.
Finding a friend, finer than fine. |
Nurturing
“I DON'T WANT to care for anything that demands my attention every minute,”
my Mother would say. This time she meant the miniature Bonsai trees
that my Dad had lovingly nurtured over five decades. She had enjoyed
watching his works-in-progress over the years. And it kept him out
of her kitchen. But now, he just couldn’t do it anymore.
At Ninety-three, his memory had diminished to a point that he knew he couldn’t
keep loving, and pruning daily, his marvelous revisions.
“Kenneth, you should give them to that
nice Japanese man who comes to see you on Saturdays,” she said. “And
to the young fellow in your Sunday school class who is so interested.
Let them take their pick and throw away the rest!”
Mother loved us. She cared
about everyone, all things animate or otherwise, but she insisted that
everyone be responsible for themselves and their possessions. It
seemed harsh at times. But she had the right to feel that way. My
dad knew it all too well.
One Sunday when Dad’s church doors opened, the first members
entering let out shrieks of surprise. There, in every seat on every
pew, sat a freshly watered, healthy bonsai plant. When everyone showed
up for the service, there was a big smile on every face. They understood
that these were truly gifts of love.
Mother was not likely to hug us with
hysteria, lavish us with sloppy love, nor flower us with foolishness.
Dad, on the other hand, hugged us, lavished us, and this day flowered everyone
with his most prized adoration, other than Mother, his beloved Bonsai.
They both loved us in their own way.
And love was all we would need. |
