wordswithpixwithwords

In quite a startling natural way

my father died.

He was asleep and just

stopped

breathing.

Stopped.

We were all there.

Gathered like participants in

a bizarre celebration

Hands held together.

A silent clarity descended.

Which was all too soon

swept away on a tide of talk,

people, tea

and other peoples

snapshots,

falling like leaves

from the copper beech.