The Drinking Gourd

mortality, being lost, and finding our way

Arcturus Major tips across the sky on a still summer night.  It’s too hot inland.  I’m standing on the beach in the dark praying for a breeze to follow me home when I go.  This close to the sea I can almost touch my father, who died one year ago next week.  I hear his voice singing in the still air:  “Follow the drinking gourd, follow the drinking gourd…