I step outside and I am in heaven. The air is warm, a hint of humidity, and I am glad for it, need it, it gets into my bones, warms them, comforts them, and me. There are dreams out here and I know it. They may ride the waves of the breeze, or be hidden in the jewel like sounds of one bird singing, or in the soft-shoe-smiling sound of the crow’s caw. Either way, they are here and I am glad for them too.
I hate that it is hard for me to come out here. While this had been a battle for longer than I want to discuss, it is against my nature. My earliest memories include hours and hours in the woods. I would have gladly lived there forever like the American Indians I loved had I not know my father was part of my life, an angel in fatherhood, and thus staying away from him made it, my young mind knew, certain I would perish.
And so here I am many years later out here in the beauty of the day, surrounded by nature, my three dogs eyeing me from their pen, twinkle-eyed all, reminding myself now, in this moment, that not matter the struggles, this world is here, for me, and the peace it brings is here too, for all of us, if we dare to believe it.
It is here too that I am with my father, his arms around me, sitting next to me, giving me a hug, his laughter, the always welcome smell of his flannel shirt when I hug him, the fact he loves me always simply for being me. I love him now always my angel in fatherhood.