I can’t put my finger on it

That which makes the eastern light’s grand 
entrance so grand
That temporary, slow motion explosion of colour
Eventually spilling over the entire landscape to
everyone’s benefit
Then, less striking through generosity

How waves of contentment partner with the hushed,
great outdoors
How the air can be so still, no leaves bristle,
no shadows sway
How it begs you to participate in this impalpable 
Then, dissipates until it’s triggered again without
calendar

Why my father grows larger than life in memory
Why his powerful hands, valid resolve and call
to care now seem unachievable
Why the colour of awe surrounds his loving 
relationships
Then, specifics elude me in my tributary,
in my attempts to imitate

B. Toner  May 2023