Blustery wind and an Irish Prayer

A raw and blustery wind is heading for the Maine coast. The remnants of a hurricane are ready to hit the shores. Some would say it's not a fitting day for much. But my Dad-in-Law would appreciate the iron of such wild weather today, of all days. Today we're burying him... my Dad-in-Law. Notice you won't hear me call him "Father"-in-Law because the man was much more of a Dad to me than the remote austere image taht such a formal name as "father" conjures. He was an imposing man with his stout Scotman's build, but he was graced with a soft voice that could grow and thunder and resonate until it was clear that all in the house could hear him. But he usually chose a much quieter form of communication. He was a gentle soul, who from my first meeting became a friend to me. I, along with my family, will miss him immeasurably.


Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry -
I am not there... I did not die...

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