Come in son, take off them boots, hang up your coat, pull up that chair to the stove, where it’s warm. Will you have coffee or tea on this grey November morning …?
Thank you for asking, I guess I’m ok, last night I woke up with a dream that’s been haunting me … Over and over again I see faces turning away from the fire …
... that’s burning the house that my father was born in. Down by the river, now covered in ice that people are trying to cross, frantically hoping to save what is left of their lives.
Across the waters. Across the cold dark waters.
Then all of a sudden the images change, far away hills roll away in the sun. I feel the longing of spring ... there’s me as a child.
Happily laughing goodbye to my father who is leaving to fight in some war and the house seems to whisper: leave …