Photographs and Memories

I remember him as a young man.
The fleeting visits,
lasting no more than two weeks each
and maybe twice a year.

We had no camera but I retain
snapshots of him; framed in my mind.
How peculiar, the clarity of the picture
though lying amidst the clutter
of a myriad of childish trivialities

My favourite capture of my father;
he standing, staring out at the mountains
a soft smile upon his weathered features.
Lost to this world and [to me]
at his most enigmatic.

Hands entwined, resting on the handle
of the turf spade; peaceful, beautiful!
His sweat sheeny brow, haloed,
eclipsing the sun from my viewpoint
in his shadow.

I longed to hear his thoughts;
to share, to know, to be a part of.
I had not the words then, nor the vocabulary
I had not the courage required to intrude
and so, stood awed.

He was huge in that moment; God like!
No matter the threadbare and
oft mended shirt, the scuffed boots
or unruly hair that owed its parting
to the wind and natures’ behest.