|'Pathway' 29x32" oil pastel; Kathleen Faulkner|
Robert passed in September, 2001. It was a sad winter that year.
I've always missed him most though, in April.
April Has Turned Cold
April has turned cold.
The evening light fades through the clouds.
A string of geese calls me out
to sing a farewell, and
I wish them luck as they go from Ish River,
away out over the ocean,
long, long sweeps of rippling wings
bound for Siberia.
Their wild song they take with them,
and leave some behind.
They leave enough so
I don't have to leave home any more.
poem from SHACK MEDICINE