Three Word Prompt: In the Lincoln Woods with Dad (Part 1 of 2)
As I tromp through the woods in Lincoln, I can smell the deep green and hear the crackle of burnt red pine needles. I can barely make out the path anymore. It's been decades since my last visit. I remember the taste of the frigid bottle of grape soda I always used to get after I walked this same path as a kid, hand in hand with my dad.
I'm simultaneously eight and 48 as we tread through the verdant deciduous glory, the footpath of glorious memories, but my Dad is not with me today; not actually. Not anymore.
I scan the trees for what was once familiar, now, of course, changed--as nature's children always do.
And then I see it. The knot is higher up now, above my head. I gaze up at it as I used to look up at it as a little kid. As I gazed up at my dad. As I dreamed up at the future. It can't still be here, I think. How could it be? I look up and remember looking into it, upon my father's shoulders, leaving it nestled in the hole as if it were a baby bird in its nest.
I pray, heart pumping in my throat.
No prequels yet. Why not write one?
Comments (1 so far!)
The description of the first paragraph is excellent. The awareness of the second paragraph is equally good and I can empathize. I almost never feel my age. At best I feel the difference between the age of memory and perhaps some years later but never the full distance to now. And without mentioning it specifically, I like how the tree has grown in your absence.
- #4016 Posted 1 month ago
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