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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required My father and I stood outside the old farmhouse in which I was raised and he still lived. The black sheep had moved back in temporarily until I found a "handyman special "house to work on and live in. It was about nine thirty pm. and really quite peaceful standing out there with him. That felt good because if there ever was anything between him and I , it surely wasn't peace. It was quite dark as only the hairline of the moon's robust face could be seen bobbing in and out of a sea sparkling with star milk; which is what my siblings and I called it from our perch on that mountain in Vermont. That blonde hairline was occasionally being hidden by clipper ship clouds seeming to be sailing back in search of the harbor from whence the moon had shoved off. I could hear the chorus of crickets fading into background noise as the frogs filled the air with the rising stacatto of their incessant peeping. My Father's voice broke the spell while he was taking it all in and said," I wonder where the peepers all went." What?", I asked. "You know , the frogs ..used to be you could hear 'em peeping all over the place at night like this. You just don't hear 'em any more. Wonder what happened to 'em." He was quite surprised when I told him they were still alive and well and just as noisy as usual. That's the first time we realized the "old man" was losing his hearing. Soon afterwards , he got himself a hearing aid and the peepers came back for him. He was glad about that. Those little nature things made him very happy. I enjoyed that about him.
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