Here we are many, many moons ago:
Sometimes I still feel like I'm piggybacking on his broad shoulders. It's a comfortable place to be.
One of the most wonderful things for me now that he's retired, is finding out things about him that I never knew before; like how much he, too, enjoys poetry and words, and the challenge of picking just the right ones to express his innermost musings. The following is from a collection of about thirty poems that he wrote last year on the subject of dreams. This is one of my favorites... and no, not just because it mentions li'l ol' me.
In my dreams I have permission
to go places and do things I cannot do
when I am awake. For instance, last night
I went to a picnic in the rain and slush at my daughter’s friend’s house
on the beach at the lake on the far side of the community. I did not
get wet. I was not cold. There were fish four feet long swimming in the water
near the rocks. The umbrella did not work.
I saw it with my own (sleeping) eyes.
Try that when you’re awake.
(In My Dreams 3)
8 February 2012
© George A. Heidenrich. All rights reserved.
All my life, people have told me what a wonderful man my father is... as if I didn't already know. Thanks, Dad. I love you.
Whether dreaming, soul-searching, or lighthearted laughter is what you're after, please join Margaret at Reflections on the Teche for today's Poetry Friday roundup.