I wish I’d had a conversation about the universe with my dad, but that wasn’t the kind of relationship we had.
Our connection was rooted in the physical, in the doing not in the saying. My dad had that same kind of link with the natural world. He didn’t much talk about the beauty in things, didn’t call out the colors of a fiery sunset or the way the dew sparkled on a downy rhododendron bud, though I know he enjoyed these things. Instead, he’d gaze out at the world with a look not unlike a smile simply soaking up the moment.