It is difficult to choose a birthday card and I pop them up and down like toast. My father says he will be eighty-five next week but I have done the math and he will be eighty-four. One card is about a guiding light, the next describes never having said I love you—they will not do. A card with a golfer or one with a fisherman will not work. My father no longer participates in those activities. I am looking for a card with a few brief words—to the point—nothing fancy.

No, I want a card that says Remember the Night or The Night in Question. A card that will remind him of the camping trip in early spring when fathers and sons camped beside a cold creek. The night he left a boy alone in a tent and went off to find a hotel where his back would find a softer place to rest. That is when it happened. I am running out of chances to lay it to rest, a chance to give him back the peace I have hoarded all these years.

afternoon clouds
a taste of snow
in the river