Yesterday, I planted pansies at a site where parts of my Dad are scattered.
I visited this site because it was a sanctuary to him. He would go for long, solitary walks and sit idly here for a while, watching the herons in their nests, gazing into the sky for a heron in flight.
I went there with my Beloved Julie and, after I planted the yellow and purple flowers we, too, took in the splendor of the scene; a soft murmur of wind, the delicate trickle of water over a dam, the firmament reflected in a shimmering pond.
It was a perfect spring day.
The task done we perched on an old lichen-covered stone wall and sat in silence, and allowed our senses to be embraced by Nature’s wonder.
Other bird calls pierced the air as lazy Monet-like cumulus flitted across our path. A single heron popped up from its nest, its roost for the summer. We lingered, and soaked up the quietude, pleasantly immersed in the languid flow of Nature.
Forty minutes later, we packed up and headed home. With one last glance behind, we bid my Dad peace and comfort.
“See you, Pops. We’ll be back soon. Love you.”
We left, to enjoy the remainder of a sunny April Sunday.
Copyright, Paul Grignon, 2013, All Rights Reserved.