Dad, it's the eve of your 84th birthday and I just took a few photos of your pink dogwood tree. The air was dry and crisp, the sky the shade of blue that only raindrops can leave behind.
It's the kind of day that would beckon you to the porch to watch the hummingbirds.....the kind of day where, without a pause I would reach for the phone to call to tell you that the catbird was back or that the apple tree was in flower.
It's the kind of day where the breeze carries childhood memories that linger long enough to simultaneously bring gigantic smiles and a smudge of tears.
I watched the sunlight weaving in and out of the dogwood's sheer pink petals, creating shadow and light in a complementary dance.
And now as I write you this birthday note, it all becomes clear…your life...my life... woven together so masterfully, with a common love of all that God has so gracefully created.
Happy Birthday Dad.