It was my dad’s birthday on March 5th. He has been gone for about 18 years. I miss him. He was my best friend. We did not always see eye to eye, but I am grateful for the influence he had, and for the influence that he continues to have, in my life. When he died, I retreated of course, like all good Thomas’ do. As soon as I was able, I went to where I knew I could be alone for a few days. The Duckabush River Trail:
The Duckabush is a special place to me,
I sought its banks in a time of grief;
The lack of vistas and the grandiose,
Replaced by the solemnity of the forest floor
With its moss and ferns and the river’s roar.
I had lost my father a few weeks before
And had come to be alone with my anger,
To commune with my feelings of hopelessness
Among the moss and the ferns on the forest floor,
To sit and listen to the river’s roar.
I climbed big hump, left the rest behind
And arrived again at the river’s edge,
Among the solitude of the towering trees
Alone I thought of all that my father meant to me,
Among the moss and the ferns and the river’s roar.