My father observed, "The mountains keep this part of the house dark."
I look and see that it is still dark and wonder about the mountain's shadow.
"At home, by this time, the sun is warming up the living room."
I recall that slivers of sunlight streak across the Navajo rugs near the fireplace.
"Boy, I can sure feel my joints this morning."
I look at my father and see, again, that he is getting old.
I ask how his coughing is doing.
"I'm okay, for the most part. I just can't go outside when it's too early."
Is that what the doctor says?
"Yeah, he's always telling me to wear something warm."
I look at my father and ask where his jacket is.
"I forgot it on the bus when I came in last night."
My father it getting more forgetful now.
"When we passed the mountains outside of town I remembered the Blessing Way song:
(In Navajo)
Beautiful sacred mountain in front of me.
Beautiful sacred mountain behind me.
Beautiful sacred mountain above me.
Beautiful sacred mountain below me.
I am surrounded by beauty."
He sings gently in the morning as the coffee drips into the pot.
We stand around the kitchen table and I ask him why he remembered it.
"I've been thinking a lot, actually remembering these songs more now."
We sip coffee in the silent knowledge that in old age, they say, we are called more often to remember our beginnings.
As I pour my father another cup I remember that words are defined by their opposite words.
Smile is understood because, in part, we know the word frown.
Now is a word we comprehend because we also understand later.
Here is a word because of there.
start is a word because of end.
As I look at my father, standing at the window, warming his hands in the sunlight finally peaking the crest of the mountain,
I wonder about the end because he is here with me now, but older.
Suddenly, I want time to stop.
But the ticking of the second hand on the clock above the sink reminds me that I have now, in the Zen sense of the word, to love my father and to forgive him.
My father looks from the window and says, "You know, son, I remembered a song when I saw the mountain just outside of town. Did I tell you this before?"
I say, "No, dad, you didn't. How did it go.?"
"Beautiful sacred mountain..."
