Green, Green My Valley Now

I remember I didn't have to leave. I remember I shouldn't have left. But I saw him, and longed to be with him, even just for the ride home. His salt and pepper hair (it's mostly salt now) bobbed up and down through the window as he trotted down the steps towards the sidewalk.
* * *
I imagine he looks a lot like his father did at his age: a head full of bristly-white hair, softer to the touch than it is to the eye; church books in hand; his scripture case well-worn with everyday use; kind eyes and a gentle smile. People say we have the same eyes, the same smile. I hope that means that I am kind as he is kind, at least some of the time.
* * *
I pushed open the door and called to him. He turned. We walked together towards the car.
* * *
I head in a straight line from the water spigot, and search the stones for the name, passing Andersons and Smiths until I reach theirs, the F clearly engraved in the rock. I brush away the dirt and clean around it as best I can until all that's left is a border of fresh green grass, earth's way of framing the dates of his time here upon it. The green mountain grows up and up in front of me. Trees cast shadows across its face and shout down to the others in the valley, calling "King of the Mountain." Legs folded one under the other, I trace my fingers along the letters.

Some days I am content to let the shadows do the talking. I know he knows what is on my heart, so I let him read it. On other visits, I speak aloud, seeking approval, or asking for advice. Although I can't hear him talking back, I feel his presence. In the peace of the moment. In the calm of my surroundings. I long to be with him, always. But find contentment in the moments when I know he is not far, for heaven is all around us. It is in the air we breathe. The moments we step aside and pause to notice the Divine in the every day. It is evident in the eyes of those we love, those kind eyes staring back at us from across the car or across the room. It is in the green of the mountains and the shadows of the afternoon sun. The opportunity lies within us to stop and remember.

"It is very strange to think back like this, although come to think of it, there is no fence or hedge round Time that has gone. You can go back and have what you like if you remember it well enough...Beautiful were the days that are gone, and O, for them to be back. The mountain was green, and proud with a good covering of oak and ash, and washing his feet in a streaming river clear as the eyes of God. The winds came down with the scents of the grass and wild flowers, putting a sweetness to our noses, and taking away so that nobody could tell what beauty had been stolen, only that the winds were old robbers who took something from each grass and flower and gave it back again, and gave a little to each of us, and took it away again." How Green Was My Valley, by Richard Llewellyn

{painting by Kershisnik}