Abilene

0600 June 12 2015

His hands tell the stories he can't remember.
Scars pick up the narrative between childhood, brotherhood, and his first brush with our less than gentle world.
They go on for a long, long time...
Sad stories
Funny stories
Lonely stories
Always stories
Stories that became a little larger than life as people "remembered" them, but somehow the embellishments never quite outstripped the man I see before me now,
so different from what he was, but still so fiercely Independent and Loving.

I kiss his forehead when I hug him to say hello or goodbye, and tell him I Love him and he does the same, and it seems as if it has always been that way between us.  Strange that we've always been so far apart.

I had always known some piece of my history was buried deep in his chest and that I would have to know the man in order to know myself.
It has been a complicated endeavor,
But every small step toward understanding has been worth it.
Every word a gift, and every moment a miracle.
This is my Father, and I Finally Know Him.

June 11 2015

My favorite ways to be alone
are on the trail and on the road...
The road will keep you company
droning on, like an old man talking weather on a street corner
Things it's seen
Things it's been
Things it's heard

A trail is great company
Everything on it wants to know why you're there
Where you're going
Why you're going
When you're leaving
Why you smell like water and food

But houses only talk to themselves
I think they think that noone's listening