Strength of my Father
1921–1997
The day my father died
I went out and bought a walking stick
clipped from a two-hundred
year-old California Redwood.
It has a leather wristband
drilled into the top
and a compass —
a compass that points the way
across the Santa Monica Mountain Range
to the northern tip of the Backbone Trail
and up toward the southwestern loop
then all the way back down
to the blue Pacific.
I’m fifteen years familiar with this mountain.
I’ve been hiking it for the greater part of my life.
But since I bought the walking stick,
I’m lost without it.
It supports me when I’m tired
and when the earth slips
beneath my feet.
It gives me courage
and strength
to walk alone
and endurance
to find my way in the wilderness
as I travel the path of the soul.
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