Walking With My Father
My father walks with me down a dusky road past fragrant bougainvillea bushes as night gathers softly for its tropical slumber. Frogs croak noisily in the gutter and night falls quickly and loudly as he points out the constellations to me and deciphers the mysteries of the African night for me. I feel safe with him as we walk hand-and-hand into the future.
I walk with my father past neatly groomed suburban houses with shades drawn and tidy green lawns waiting for their next manicure. We talk about the present and the past. He has many regrets and often loses his train of thought. We walk quietly together thinking about the past and waiting on the future.
My father walks with me as I walk alone down empty streets past split levels and ranch style houses. Spring has arrived in the Midwest, but I carry memories of tropical evenings and starry skies in a faraway land walking hand-and-hand with my father.