Posts Tagged ‘Father’s Day’

Detail from Early Work by Donald Langosy

untitled, detail from early work by painter donald langosy

In a crumbling building in a hipster city, a private collector has many early works of Mr. Langosy. It was my privilege to view them recently, and of all the works, this one stood out to me greatly, a father holding his child, his large hand cradling while a small hand reaches up. This detail from a study of a painting never completed captured fatherhood for me. I was reminded of my father, a large man, and how he used to hold my hand. Except for an occasional wild tale, my father was mostly a silent man, conveying a lot through touch. He didn’t often say “good job” or other words of praise.  It was a pat on the top of one’s head or his hand resting on your shoulder. Then you knew you’d done well. With Father’s Day approaching, he comes to mind of course. His hand I can hold no more but the memories are enough. And for those memories I am thankful.

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Would you believe I was restless this morning?  Probably the two cups of strong coffee.  I could not settle down to work with words or images.  Finally I began picking through a box with writing from years past — letters never mailed, musings, unfinished stories, etc.  I forgot to date the paper, but I expect the following piece was written around Father’s Day nearly fifteen years ago.  I probably wrote it while sitting on the back porch of my childhood home in Virginia.  After reading the words, would you believe I felt grounded?


The sun shines bright and a cool breeze blows.  Spring has not yet arrived but I feel the change in the air.

Spring arrives and yet my father’s vegetable garden lies fallow.  Let it rest as he now rests.  His long journey has ended.

Let the land rest.  Rest your head, child. Sit still for it is the day of rest.  A verb that is used so often.  What does it mean, to rest?

A rest in music. A rest between words on paper.

To let your heart rest …

Resting seems scary somehow right now.

If one does rest, is it possible to pause for too long?  If so, what will quicken the heart, the spirit?   Will it be the sun’s rays, a cool breeze against bare skin, a lover’s lips?  Perhaps a bird’s song.

What if there is no breeze, no sun, no lover?

There are plenty of birds, though, even in the empty garden.  I suppose there are still seeds there beneath the earth.

What are those seeds doing there?

Well, I suppose my father would say that they are resting.

Yes, resting is what he would say.

The seeds are resting in the arms of the Earth awaiting their chance to grow.


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