Me and my dad have a thing going on. I understand him and he gets me. That special father daughter thing that people write books about? We have it. I treasure it.
He is a journeyman, my dad. He heads off places, experiences them fully, writes about them, then returns and shares them with us. Sometimes mum goes with him. Sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes he flies for 30 hours away and sometimes he drives 90 minutes away. Regardless, he is as inspired and eloquent about the sunrise and birdsong in rural Victoria as he is about the ancient back alleys of Italy.
He's about to head off again. A short, tropical journey this time. I made him a bag to put his shoes. A small stretch of time, 2 pieces of calico, a little thread, and some ribbon and he has a utilitarian gift (which he loves) I finished it off with a stamp of the Buddha's feet on the front corner.
And these feet
They will take your weight, my love
These feet will drive your dream engine
Feet, baby, this is where the road begins
Roadmaker, Red Raku
My small girl and her dad have a thing going on, too. Theirs is a love so powerful and fertile that I can see them growing within it. Strong and bouyant. She, the vine and he, the sturdy wooden fence. She, green and fresh, unfurling and fruiting as years pass. He, as strength and stability, with pockets to rest in when dormant and to unravel from with the sun's warmth. She makes him gifts, regularly. But this gift? This was a little bit special, this one. This was a breathtaking beauty, this one. I heard his big heart give a little 'boom' when he opened it.
I love the dads in my life.
He is a journeyman, my dad. He heads off places, experiences them fully, writes about them, then returns and shares them with us. Sometimes mum goes with him. Sometimes she doesn't. Sometimes he flies for 30 hours away and sometimes he drives 90 minutes away. Regardless, he is as inspired and eloquent about the sunrise and birdsong in rural Victoria as he is about the ancient back alleys of Italy.
He's about to head off again. A short, tropical journey this time. I made him a bag to put his shoes. A small stretch of time, 2 pieces of calico, a little thread, and some ribbon and he has a utilitarian gift (which he loves) I finished it off with a stamp of the Buddha's feet on the front corner.
And these feet
They will take your weight, my love
These feet will drive your dream engine
Feet, baby, this is where the road begins
Roadmaker, Red Raku
My small girl and her dad have a thing going on, too. Theirs is a love so powerful and fertile that I can see them growing within it. Strong and bouyant. She, the vine and he, the sturdy wooden fence. She, green and fresh, unfurling and fruiting as years pass. He, as strength and stability, with pockets to rest in when dormant and to unravel from with the sun's warmth. She makes him gifts, regularly. But this gift? This was a little bit special, this one. This was a breathtaking beauty, this one. I heard his big heart give a little 'boom' when he opened it.
I love the dads in my life.
