When I ask how he is doing, he sends a photo of sunrise coloring the walls in what he calls his front room. It’s easier to sleep in the living room recliner now; that angle makes it possible to breathe.
When I ask again (Dad, how are you doing?) he emails a series of photos of cottonwoods along the Sun River. Each day Dad and Mom walk the river to watch the beavers work. Day begatting day, the trees are standing, but seemingly begats suddenly – one day the trees are chewed down. The day will come when the trees will be in the river, a part of a beaver dam.
We don’t see the dams happen, we see them when they are done. My folks are hoping if they keep quiet and blend in, they will witness the making of one said dam.
When I ask about his biopsy results, he sends instead a photo of these ducks. See how, no matter what, the ducks stay lined up?
All the while our world is zipping with TV shows and utility bills, test results, the rising price of gold, another section of our universe tunes to something different. The ducks will be ducks and the beavers find their trees. And the wash of sunrise continues to color someone’s front room walls.