As far back as I can remember, an old handsaw hung on the pegboard above my father’s workbench. I do not recall him ever using it, instead using a newer saw that hung next to the old one. It was not until I was a teenager that I noticed the initials “RH” carved in the old saw’s wooden handle – my grandfather’s initials.
to the morning light . . .
My grandfather died when I was two years old – too young to remember him. There is a photo of this man and me riding together on a horse, and he is smiling. There is another photo, this time he is alone, standing outdoors looking forlorn. I would like to know more about this man I never had the chance to know.
image before me
reflected in the mirror . . .