High winds whipped across the dark and snowy landscape as I snuggled down into bed last night. Some are frightened, or at least unnerved by the wind, but most often I find myself lulled to sleep by the relentless sound of a winter blizzard.
As I lay listening in the darkness, memories crept in and I once again found tears rolling down and soaking my hair and ears. My dad, out "scrounging" wood for the fireplace. My dad, brushing snow off his little truck before leaving for work on a dark winter morning. My dad, sipping hot coffee in front of the wood stove on a cold, blustery morning...
Every time I closed my eyes a new memory would flood my mind; walking to the junior high school every morning for three years, the same school Dad attended when he wrote his first journal, hiding from the freezing cold in the backyard woodshed or in the evergreens, Dad throwing an extra blanket on my bed on extra cold nights.
In spite of the tears that creep from the corners of my eyes, there is still a strange comfort in those childhood memories. We had a warm house on cold winter days, full of wonderful smells and good things to eat, a daddy who would pull into the driveway each night and tell stories of his day at work and maybe draw us some pictures or play his harmonica, and a mom who was there throughout each day to love and encourage us, look out for us when we were sick, and love the daddy who worked so hard to provide for us a home.
They are good memories of days gone by, days that will return over and over in my mind. I guess those days are never really gone forever if they live on in the hearts and minds of the children who lived them. Once again I am blessed.
PS. The photo is borrowed.
The Barn Collective.
10 hours ago