My dad passed away on October 24th at the age of 86. For over thirty years he found joy, purpose and sanctuary in his shop. He created over five hundred individual bird carvings, not to mention feather pins, ornaments and other carvings.
On the day after he died, I went into his shop and breathed in the essence of my father: meticulous, organized, creative, prepared. There were boxes of feather blanks, all cut out, ready to detail and paint. The same was true for various bird shapes. There were at least three birds in process, which tells me that my father was going to carry on. He was still doing what he loved so well, almost up to the day he passed. As I took in the tools, the sketches, the aprons hung on their hook, the plans and preparations for ongoing creativity, I cried. What happens now? The words started forming, and although it took weeks, this is my answer to my own question.
His Shop
The shop is quiet now.
His tools, which under his nimble hand
served their highest purpose,
laid aside.
a warm living creature.
And like his Father,
gentle strokes removed what need not be,
and shaped and smoothed what should...
To the finest curve of feather,
the poise of a wing beat,
the readiness for flight.
For those unfinished, half-born creatures,
awaiting a further touch, what now?
Not for a moment do we believe his task is finished for
good.
After this rest – but a moment for him -
when his soul is restored,
he will waken, stretch and
scan the skies –
Flush with birds, song, color!
He will lift his ready hands,
and there find wings.
