It’s early March. Still in bed, he opens his eyes to the
wonder of winter: the familiar yet always surprising beauty of the sharp
contrast between the fresh snow covered branches and the darker shade of the
bark of the trees. Rays of sunlight knock at his window inviting him outside.
He is filled with a sense of calm, a sense that something was rest to peace.
Anaïs got up early. She had a meeting with the organic farm
coop group.
Checking on the maple trees, he collects several gallons of sap.
He feels a pinch in his heart; a desire to go on a long hike.
Anaïs’s ring comes from his cell phone.
“It’s Dad,” she says.
“Do you want me to meet you somewhere?” he says.
“It’s not pretty.” She is crying. “Even though he was mad at
me for loving you, even though he was grumpy and miserable, I loved him just
the same. I’ll miss him. I’ll miss him. I guess what I miss is what could have
been, the love we could have shared.”
“He did not make our life easy.”
“You know what I want?”
“Wait. I’ll take you to some place you’ve never been before
for a few days.”
“Would you do that?”
