Hunting for Golf Balls by Tom Velterop ⁠– Part IV

There is a cold marrow in my bones,

of clean river clay

ice water

wild grass and the sap of a silver pine.

It comes from the copse

where we walked,

me and you

then me,

alone.

We wandered then I wandered,

and wondered,

you with the sky in your eyes

(and the late sunlight)

and me, lost to the loam and the gloam

my head in the clouds

my eyes in the ground.

We searched then I searched,

and searched,

though the search didn’t matter

(or did it matter to you?)

only the searching of it,

together.

And I know now,

Father,

that though death has us parted

(and winter has only now started)

I will keep you close by me

in my smile,

in my cowlick,

in my big toes,

in everything you left me,

and I won’t forget

(but I will forgive)

and live

and continue to love

knowing that you will guide me.

Love,

(and other things)

Your son.

by Tom Velterop

About Hunting for Golf Balls

Hunting for Golf Balls is a four-part memoir about loss, and the last refuge of wilderness. It began with not knowing how to begin, and never really ended. The first installment was published last week and you can read it here. You can find the first installment, the second installment and the third installment here.