I’m working in my dad’s old shop, on my folk’s property with the trees that I’ve loved for more than half my life ❤️
My dad, the trees I belong to, they’re all here.
You said today that there is a new energy to my art,
But familiar.
And I knew instantly it was Dad you feel.
Every time I walk in the shop. Every time. I smell him and breathe deeply, trying to draw the smell of a machine shop and sweat and concrete deep within my very marrow.
I feel him like the trees outside. They who nod as I pass, singing them good morning with the sunrise.
I feel him there too, as I creak open the door, he is nodding at me from across the shop as he turns back to what he was working on.
Like so many times before.
In parallel universes now perhaps, he and I, circling one another.
Claiming a corner with our tools, both dancing to Jimmy Buffett on the radio.
It is quieter now,
But the walls will shout his intensity with pictures and airplane parts coated in sawdust.
And I will create, I will singe my very soul into every piece I touch because I’m surrounded by so much love that sometimes I think I will burst from aching and pining so deeply yet living so much joy
Every day
That I can walk to Dad’s shop.
A Burd in Flight 