“Mountains,” For My Father

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“Mountains”

For my father, Bonard Emanuel Morse

by Ladner Morse

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My father loved the mountains,

The freedom of the breeze.

He longed for elevation,

A trip above the trees.

He loved the whole bonanza,

From checklists to aching feet,

And he was such a trooper,

Always a positive word to speak.

With energy unending,

He would rush to meet the path,

But his joy was  more in going,

Than the for and aft.

Enchanted by the open sky,

Like some Peter-Panoramic-Viewer,

His razor brains and eagle ears,

Were on mountainsides made pure.

Oh, he loved to share this treasure,

With all who took the dare,

His mounts were sorts of holy ground,

Scents of pine, was heaven’s air.

He took me up to Mt. Baldy once,

When I was thirty-five and strong,

He’d just had a triple bypass,

He checked his heart monitor as we went along.

But twice upon the mountain path,

Before we reached the top,

T’was I, who had to take a rest,

A pain in my lungs made me stop.

My father was a jogger too,

But “to hike,” he liked the most,

If my father could live anywhere,

He’d be in sunshine and mountains by the coast.

But dad was always going,

Always searching one more mount,

And slides?  Yes, we’ve got picture slides,

A few more than we care to count.

His conquests were terrific,

If they be conquests at all.

I think he liked the rising,

More than the fall.

A type-A personality,

The mountains were just his style,

He greeted all who came his way,

With a firm hand shake and ready smile.

Maybe he liked the solitude,

And the slow and even pace,

Though a peak would pike his challenge,

It was less to him a race.

The mountains were his refuge.

From hundred miles of freeway days,

With devils-back and snow clad climbs.

All roads led to the mountain range.

But he did not know “mountains,”

For the length of his whole life,

I’m not sure they were a mistress,

More then they were a wife.

But there certainly was a marriage,

of this man and the mountain ridge,

Over time I lost track somehow,

Of when this climber crossed the bridge.

With so many challenges in his life,

He early learned to climb,

So, when the Sierra’s proposed to him,

He’d found his “nature”  bride.

Although I love the mountains,

And an occasional little hike,

I doubt I’ll ever really know,

What it was so much he liked.

How I love my camper daddy,

But if I would change things one way,

I would have been with him more,

Each and every day.

Yes,  my father loves the mountains,

And the freedom of the breeze,

He longs for elevation,

A trip above the trees.

And somewhere near some sun bright summit,

His soul is souring still,

And inching up past one more hump,

He cracks a smile, in the summer chill.

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~ ~ ~

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My father would have been 97 years old one week ago today. I miss you Dad!

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Laddie Morse — ArrowheadOne

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