family, father, heart, love, memoir

It Is Always Winter

When I recall my father, it is always winter.   I’m not sure why that is.  Upon calling forth memory, I visualize his smiling face, then, a postcard-screened scene of the perfect winter appears.  Snow, blanketing the ground.  Frosty shades of blue, the softness of the scene, like peering through mohair.  Sunlight streams through the dancing […]

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