Like little flakes of blessings that flutter down on us every day,
So light we don’t even notice them.
Close parking spots,
violets in the grass,
A bee buzzing by,
The smell of her hair.
That cardinal in the tree by my morning coffee spot
Who always makes me think of my dad.
All the good things, like the way he used to hum in the car
When we’d go on long rides like folks used to do.
Maybe we’d drive to Clay City for no reason,
Just time in the car, wandering…
Who does that anymore? We’re all just rushing around.
I have so many things I could squeeze into this minute –
my public work and private contemplation –
that I get anxious just deciding where to start.
Wish I could crawl in by my dad in his Buick LeSabre, sit right next to him, warm and strong, no seatbelt, like we did.
Cruising along narrow rural routes,
The snow scattering across barren cornfields and tumbling gray barns,
Gusts twirling white sheets into patterns and then cutting them loose
While the crows caw from crooked sycamores along icy black creeks.
A quick glimpse as we zoom past and then gone –
Like my dad, and that Buick,
And probably Clay City too.
Why do I let time send me into a panic?
It’s nothing. It’s no one. It’s always here. It’s always always.
The only thing time is good for is creating. Everything else is a wash.
That’s how I feel today.
Tomorrow I’ll look back and think,
“What was I thinking?”
And what was my dad thinking on our drive to Clay City?
Maybe he was just watching snowflakes,
like a thousand blessings of light and peace,
Remind him to stop worrying long enough
To have more mind to count them all.
With me right beside him,
Warm and small,