My father is leaving. He ebbs and flows— we call him back, but each time he slips a little further. He is tired, he says, impatient for his journey home.
I urge on him just one more day and he laughs. I suppose he wonders, for what? Is there any good thing he can teach that he hasn’t lived for my instruction every other day of thousands?
Perhaps just this: How to let go without regret, to suppress love like the moon that pulls and wills him always back to shore.
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“Wo unto them that decree unrighteous decrees…” -2 Nephi 20 You Scythians, you Legrees of those whose shoes are sopping from the Aegean, who drive my fair ones to capsize in the wasteland, who wa