How do we choose to travel?
What is reliable in the rain?
What is our ultimate destination,
for this time, this journey, or
this day?
We move at the speed of life.
Depending on traffic, others
may chose to follow your path,
but not your direction.
© 2021 j.g. lewis
A little cold, little wet,
a little tired and yet
I am here. Still,
full of wonder.
The morning chill leaves
little to the imagination
and much less
to hope for.
Expected, perhaps, as it
always is, this time, this
season is only what
we ask of it.
11/21/2024 j.g.l.
The answers are far less certain
than even last week, to all those
perennial questions or solutions
you might seek.
What do you believe, or
what do you believe in?
Come Monday, you have fewer
questions than you had last week.
For a while there are less doubts
in what you believe.
Whom do you believe in,
and who believes in you?
11/18/2024 j.g.l.
I'm like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.
It has been almost ten years since my father’s passing. While memories are not as swift as they once were, they are solid.
My dad always seemed to have a purpose and set an example for his three children. He was professional, an accountant, dedicated to a strong work ethic. Community service was important to him, and he served on many boards, at the church, and could always be counted on to volunteer with any of the sports organizations his active children were involved with.
Keith Lewis was a good father, a good friend, and trusted confidant to his partners, associates, and those within his ever-expanding social circle. Admirably, he counted among his friends a group of men he established relationships in his college days. He was a loving husband; that was never a doubt.
He was always there for his children, though I never fully realized how much pride he seemed to take in fatherhood. He was not overly expressive about his feelings (I believe it was a generational thing) but subtly showed love in ways that he was able to.
He was human and, flaws and all, recognized I was human too.
As I grew older, and then became a father myself, I realized more and more that lessons, morals, and virtues that he was trying to teach us through his actions were both valuable and purposeful. I did not respect the lessons then as I do now and, I suppose, never thanked him properly for the wisdom, knowledge, and the meaning of love he instilled in me.
We had our differences (it was a generational thing) and there were periods of silence as I never fully understood, or accepted, those differences. I was not rebellious . . . just silent.
Despite what I wanted to believe at the time, the man put his family first. He was a provider and I never wanted for anything. He was happy in his role. Only now do I realize his happiness in the role of father and provider.
His death, almost a decade ago, was unexpected (or not anticipated), and came at a time when I was searching for answers I can only now find in memory.
I am thinking of my dad today and how blessed I was to have a father like him. It was not always easy for me to express my love, but I know it was there.
I am still feeling that love.
Happy Father’s Day.
06/16/2024 j.g.l.
I’m like a pencil;
sometimes sharp,
most days
well-rounded,
other times
dull or
occasionally
broken.
Still I write.
j.g. lewis
is a writer/photographer in Toronto.