I treasure your advice. You were the wisest of humans. No matter how things evolved, you knew faith and endurance worked. You were the toughest of the brave with those swollen hands of arthritis.
I’ll always remember your soft-spoken eyes, surrounded by wrinkles, hidden behind thick grandma glasses. I would hitch-hike from my town to yours, just to come and stay. That highway would stretch for miles, and I walked for hours, waiting for a diesel to stop.
Our surreal conversations would start in the early afternoon and head clear into the night. During summer the mocking birds impersonated every other song bird. Locusts buzzed outside your desert door. I crave those harvested summers-my imagination reflects them clearly.
It was just you and I dwelling on life. Each talk had a personality. We were Deep Thinkers. It was difficult to see you leave. Time and space have never been the same. That old house of yours still stands, with the family name; Millett, strewn across the front. I miss the chimes and cowbells that sung from your porch.
With Love, You’re Grandson.