This morning Megan told me Happy Father’s day. I’ve never been told this. It’s just after seven in the morning and her dark hair was falling over her naked shoulders. Megan is seven months pregnant and she is beautiful. And now with her naked shoulders and her dark hair and her arms reaching for me to come hug her she tells me happy father’s day.
I am toasting my ornery looking picture. To myself, and to all this applies, Happy Father’s day. The photo was taken a few weeks ago at a winery located in the hills of CT. It’s among our favorites. We walk to the edge of the winery and sometimes we stand on the rock wall and watch the cows graze. The only issue I take with the picture is that Megan is not with me. She is holding the camera and there was no one there.
Now I sit at my desk with a coffee and a bit of red. I will celebrate this morning and I will write my 23rd chapter and I will think of the day we meet him.
She sits, reading to my niece, awaiting her turn.