I was caught in the whirlwind,
pulled up,
taken across plains and mountains,
and dropped on stranger shores.
Desert and mountains,
scrub burned with curious fires,
scots pipes,
droning where they don't belong.
We stood,
briefly,
near the small plain,
where every last bit of my father was
turned loose to the air.
I never missed him as much as I did then,
with the pipes echoing in my head.
Cold,
and an unusual Nevada storm rolling in,
retrospectively it felt right,
like the world gave us a nod,
said, "We loved him and miss him as well"
Back to Vegas noise,
that storm feeling in my heart,
where it mattered,
later,
in Kansas,
still in my heart.
