by Gone the Sun
While visiting the folks farm on a cool spring day,
Traces of snow still melting on the brown leaf-laden earth,
We went for a walk, my daughter and I,
Along the old path that once was a logging road.
The new green buds were on the trees, shiny new linings
On every branch, and she trotted ahead, eager for
The adventure of where our walk may take us that day.
She ran ahead, but never out of sight.
I had to lift her through the pricker-brush. I had worn
Old jeans and boots for the occasion. And as we
Started up the hill, our pace slowed, and she held my hand.
How small she seemed; how large she must think me.
A small brook, fresh from melting snow, ran across our
Path, through these old woods and my daughter tried
To jump it, all alone. I put my hand on her back, lightly,
So she didn't notice, to steady her landing on the wet rocks.
I am reluctant to add, that I slowed before she did,
and asked
Her to go back. She hollered, my daddy, hurry, lets go, more
As I carried her on my back. She was surprised how far we had
Come, and expected the house behind every corner. But I knew.
That fresh spring is in my mind still. And sap still
stains my coat.
I wonder if there are days that she thinks of it -- I think probably so.
One day soon, she will tell the tale of her proud jump and run. And
It will no longer be my story to tell, but hers alone.