Windows

Looking out over the valley

one early spring morning,

a thick fog was set ablaze

by the sun

revealing everything

in its wake.

Later that morning

puffy clouds

dragged their shadows

like heavy burdens

over the treetops below.

The leaves of the white oak

in the backyard

were being delicately stirred

by a soft breeze.

The new season

had clothed the world

with a fresh look of green.

The silence

in the glass room

dispelled like the dew

as Dad quit thumbing

through a book

on plants and trees.

He spoke of a time

when I was a boy

stretching out my neck

toward the "crack"

in the window;

I had trouble breathing

whenever he smoked

in the car.

He confessed

that he had never realized

what I had gone through

until he quit smoking.

Then out of the clear blue,

he asked for forgiveness.

This matter with

the window and smoke

was so long ago that

it was a faint memory.

Then as he spoke

I recalled

the little boy stretching

for the fresh air outside,

complaining to his father

that he couldn't breathe and

seeing the look of irritation

on his father's face.

As I looked at the man

humbled through the years,

smaller than the brutish man

I once knew when I was young,

time had transformed him

into a kinder, more gentler soul.

Without hesitation,

I forgave him

for his sake and mine.

Was this symbolic

of other things?

Forgiveness,

like the sun,

lifted the smoky veil

between us.

Dad returned

to browsing through

plants and trees

while we talked about

many things

but especially

the brevity of life.

By noon

everything was

soaked by the sunfall.

The white oak

was reflecting Frost's gold

that would soon fade away.

I, too,

have a window

in need of being rolled down

that would usher in some fresh air

and clear things up a bit.

Poor housekeeping of the heart

can make a wreck of things.

I opened

the window for my father;

he showed me the way.

Perhaps

my son will open

the window for me

so we both can breathe

more comfortably

before life,

like the fog

on that early spring morn,

comes and goes.