.
.
It was your favorite book,
the one with Goldbug*
hidden in every picture.
You’d turn the pages
and find him peeking
from the window of a car
or riding in the back
of a fire truck.
.
When you grew up
you had your own cars and trucks
and never failed to wave
and beep your horn
when you drove away.
.
A year ago today
you left this realm
but you are not gone.
I feel you standing next to me
as I water the grape ivy.
Your wind chime rings
when the air is perfectly still.
The little wooden cats
you carved for me
change position during the night.
Something invisible
tickles my arm.
.
You tell me in a dream
not to be sad
and you wave at me
from the windows of everywhere.
I wave back
and turn another page.
.
.
© 2018 Betty Hayes Albright
.
* from Richard Scarry’s – Cars and Trucks and Things that Go
.
Cats carved by my late son, Arlie, when he was 8 or 9.
Seasonings 