This week we received a picture prompt. It reminded me immediately of my Dad (though he would never sit at the edge of a precipice like that). He loved the mountains and spent numerous summers living in lookout towers. He love to hike and instilled that love in his family. This post is dedicated to him.
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The wind runs it’s tendril fingers through my hair
and presses it’s chilled lips upon my cheeks.
I close my eyes and pretend it’s him,
squeezing me tight and whispering
it’s going to be all right,
that I can make it through another day.
A single tear traces a
cool track down my face
and lands with a soft splotch.
The mountains are synonymous with him.
There was never one without the other.
I stand, dusting grainy dirt from
“Give her a hug for me,” I whisper
and know the words are carried to heaven
on the breeze.