What is it about a Father? 

    Why do we love this man--giver and keeper of our lives? He came out of nowhere special--from the sagebrush,
the blacklands, the piney woods. He was a smart boy, but not too smart, because he never said it himself, accepted it humbly from others.
    He could do a good day's work--knew how, but would rather go fishing, or tell tall tales, or watch geese in their homing instincts, veeing north. He holds no awards for philosophy; doesn't claim to know what's in all those books. The things he doesn't know, he learns from his mistakes
    He has weathered harsh winters and arid summers, good politics and bad, and learned to stand alone on his convictions when necessary, yet it takes so little to make him glad--an open door, kitchen fragrances, baby smiles, good stories, strong coffee, the biggest fish.
    Why do we love this man?  Because we respect him; we count his life worthwhile, we know his gentleness. We know he remembers he was a boy before he was a man.
     Evelyn      (Excerpted from an Editorial written for the Henderson Daily News.)

    Author

    Just opened the Spring Issue of Galaxy, and saw a picture and write-up of the lady I look at every moning in my bathroom mirror! Thanks, Editor Barbara--I am humbled.

    Lunch this Father's Day with Son-in-law Joe & Sue, Melanie & Charles; greats, Hailey and Donovan. I am blest...
      
    (For the Fun of It: 2 "ODD" poems:)
         The Termite
    A termite
    is more a vampire
    than a mite. The bite of mite
    is but an itch to ease. How lucky
    we're not made of trees.

         That's Life
    Yesterday
    died, and all its pain.
    That's not to say that today
    won't bring strife. Hope for happiness
    is up to me. That's ife.


    A Bit of Wisdom

        Ground Rattlers
    They were possessors of this land before we came, we latent squatters strutting our rights, as stubborn in our determination as the coiled ground rattler, our toy rattles not nearly so effective.

        Today, Tomorrow
    A narrow path
    snaking across the field
    from pond to hayloft
    speaks to the habit
    of cows
    like that of man
    following heel to heel
    beating a rut deep, deeper;
    too deep for sons
    to climb out of.





     

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