fwriction

This morning, along the Hudson River, I watched a Second Line. Amongst other, more overtly emotional reactions, the collision of Nola and NYC reminded me of a painting, one I adore but cannot comprehend. A Jackson Pollock, perhaps. Though it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, I imagined it was for my father, whom I miss everyday. I tapped my foot to the rhythm of the band, to the drum pounding along the pavement and the waves and my bones, trying to put together the reasons for things I knew, ultimately, could have no explanation.

A very warm Happy Father’s Day, to all those who’ve earned it, in whatever manner possible. Enjoy a special Story of the Day: “A Father’s Story,” by Andre Dubus. I love you, Dad.