13th November

A dandelion seed ball - how fragile it is floating the still air. I reach out but it somersaults in the disturbance of my moving hand. I want to hold it but it keeps floating away. It moves on the slightest puff of my breath. I've caught it ! cupped in my closed hands - but it's no longer whole only a collection of parts, fragments of what was, a memory now. Hell…it's the 13th today !. My fathers birthday. He's been dead twenty seven years. I should have told him that I loved him far more than I did.