Way Down Yonder

You could carry an air conditioner or use a shovel like nobody's business. You taught me how to reassemble an engine, sweat copper pipe fittings and about lines of perspective. You sang "My Evaline" and played the piano by ear.

As I became older, I began to feel your mortality. "Here, I'll mow that steep bank or let me take the air conditioners down this year."

When you became frail, I do remember missing you and wanting to go back to when you wore that fishing hat around the yard and you smelled like dad.

I still have the hat. It has a patch on the front with a fish and it's all worn and faded

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