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Light Painted Everything

Light painted everything, the late afternoon from over the garden fence. Remembering summer plums in a garden miles away when light seemed closer and the shadows not as abrupt. How young you were and dependent, how young I was, inadequate and hesitant.

Even despite the cries of critics, we’ve made it this far. I showed a view over the fence. I showed you a glimpse of this exceptional life that was all yours. We were petulant weeds we were, finding our own way around the path in this landscape, you and I.

I laughed when the sound of laughter was foreign, smiled when all I had was a frown, concentrating on the tiny bud, that green bit of life. Hope bursting out of the ground. I hung on moments when nothing was broken and you were that perfect special sound.

 

I sang, you are my sunshine as light painted everything. How many wisdoms attained are from the smallest of fingers and the simplest of minds. So many treasures we kept in our pockets, we walked travels, we photographed fields and forests of pine.

That garden kept me contained, much like the electric fence kept the dogs in check. I always knew the outside space was unsafe, away from the thorns and the poisonous weeds it was just you and me. Outside of the house, away from that safe space.

Still I wouldn’t trade a moment, not a year of feeling inadequate, not a moment of feeling out of control. I raised you with every bit of knowledge I could find, with every bit of love and concern. I was the gardener, I was the father I raised beautiful flowers, dutchman pipe and passion vine.

You were that vine that climbed the fence, found your way out of that safe space. Now I sit by myself and watch the colors change, you wander away, you come back and shine like the light in a storm, there’s calm in your eyes, a confidence and you make me proud everyday.

I am the oak in a meadow, I know it’s summer, I know the heat is stifling. You dance about like seeds in a summer breeze, rising and falling as dad is frightened but pleased. I never said I would love this, never agreed to let you go, without a tear, without some bit of control.

I watch you and in your light, my hopes and dreams for you to sing, to your children of the sunlight and that beautiful garden where light painted everything.

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Written by stevelinebaugh

Oil painter and pastel artist, writer, photographer, graphic designer,
originally from New Jersey

Years Of MembershipStory MakerContent Author

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