Postcard to my father
I have wanted to go back to that place for so
long, to breathe the same air, to be where you were when that final event happened,
by the loch those many years ago. Could you see the view as you left us? Was
the surface water rippled in the breeze, or was it blue, flat and clear? Could
you see the pebbles underneath, smooth and round? How green were the trees in
that midsummer midday? Did you smell the warm grass, taste the minerals of
earth, hear all the birds singing? Did the golden eagle soar above the white
clouds?Did it fly away towards the distant Cairngorms?
Did you think of me?
Did you wish I was there?
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