a summer day on the patio:
my young knees dig
into the cushion of the chair;
bees scurry about in the flowers;
sweet lemonade sweats atop the table;
you ask me to make up another story;
but this time, to talk into the mic
Amidst the days of pleasant mirth,
That throw their halo round our earth;
Amidst the tender thoughts that rise
To call bright tears to happy eyes;
Amidst the silken words that move
To syllable the names we love;
There glides no day of gentle bliss
More soothing to the heart than this!
No thoughts of fondness e’er appear More fond, than those I write of here!
No name can e’er on tablet shine,
My father! more beloved than thine!
‘Tis sweet, adown the shady past,
A lingering look of love to cast—
Back th’ enchanted world to call,
That beamed around us first of all;
And walk with Memory fondly o’er
The paths where Hope had been before—
Sweet to receive the sylphic sound
That breathes in tenderness around,
Repeating to the listening ear
The names that made our childhood dear—
For parted Joy, like Echo, kind,
Will leave her dulcet voice behind,
To tell, amidst the magic air,
How oft she smiled and lingered there.
for the advice given,
the lingering calm nature,
the desire to need more,
the simplicity of morning,
the splash of salty waves,
the songs that are sung,
the strength to continue on,
even on life’s hardest days,
the ability to love,
this peculiar life.
Devastated by the sudden loss of her dad, Jennifer begins writing letters to him as a way of keeping track of the things she still wants to say. Over time, her 70+ letters serve as a way to help her heal. She just wasn’t ready for the conversations to end.