_ _ _ _ _ _ _
He smelled of wood smoke and the sea,
Crinkly eyes and that mischievous smile.
A bear; impatient for us to get up, get going,
The day waits for no one.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
He was sunrise.
He was faith.
He was chopping wood and musky plaid shirts.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
He was earnest intensity on the brink of laughter.
He was seriousness overlaying a playful heart,
This is no drill, this is the real thing.
He was salty low tides and hand-made everything.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
He’s in the flickering fluorescent lamp in the shed,
The rich saturation of it all that is the woods.
Like filtered light, sneaking through cedar branches.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
Twenty years gone, I still, for a fleeting moment, catch it.
That scent in the breeze,
Salt water and wood smoke.
And I know he’s still here; a part of me.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _
For George.
You captured him perfectly.