I have an old memory,
One that I will have forever.
Smell of petrichor
Cold wet clothes clinging to the shivering body
Of a lone cyclist at dusk
On our empty street.
Headlight shining bright
Silhouette forming on tree lined road
Like some painting,
I can remember the black outline of a wet stranger on bicycle
Against multi-hued shining blue lines
Formed by rain blending with beams of light
That threw moving shapes of light on our bedroom walls
Each time someone passed by.
My father's loud booming voice,
At our front door
Shouting out to stop him...
So that he could take shelter
Under our roof, until the rain ceased.
He drank hot tea out of our wobbly dented steel tumbler.
Before leaving.
On the day
That I was most thankful for shelter from a storm.
It was shelter and hot tea for a stranger
But it was
A gift my father left me.
To warm my heart
Always.
©️ Rebecca Manari
25-1-21
A story of how Pappa was always so kind and gentle and treated everyone well, no matter who they were.
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