CEYLON; A HOMAGE:

Today I am going for a walk with my Dad. He died 3 years ago, but we still walk, still talk. We are in the old Ceylon, the country of his birth. We walk hand in hand until we get to the crest of a hill overlooking a beautiful tea plantation below, nestled between green misty valleys. It is that time of day when the night dew is beginning to evaporate in the early friendly sunshine. Behind us we hear the cascading splashing of the waterfalls that run down from the surrounding mountains. Below us in emerald, verdant splendour lie the tea plants in bushy lush rows. The gentle tea-pickers in their jewel coloured saris & big tea baskets on their backs, bend & pluck the tender tea leaves while they are still fresh with the dawn´s dew, & as they bob up & down they resemble butterflies flitting from plant to plant, exotic & exquisite in their fluid movements. My Dad is smiling a gentle smile, a smile of the lost memories of his free & wild childhood within these hills. He turns to me & without spoken words, I know he has forgiven me my sepia sins of past misdeeds, & I in turn, have forgiven him for being the father who never knew how to play. From behind us appears a lady in gossamer sari matching the sky, her golden bangles clink as she places a tray of rich Ceylon tea & plate of delicate wafers before us, & she disappears as silently as a moth´s whisper. Dad & I sip our tea & memories in silence, looking down at the tea plantation below us. We both know, we both love, & we are both at peace. Blessings Dad may you always find happiness wherever you are.