Ode to a classmate: the grey of November, the winds and clouds and heavy skies have scuttled out and around and are gone. Within them, they have taken you. Unexpected…and now we move through these days and in and out and through un-expectation and sorrow. Forever you, perpetual motion and rambunctious…defiantly laughing and laughing…making us laugh and laugh…and now, losing you.
My Father throws back his head in uproarious delight at the dinner table where your antics are embellished…the image of your permanent placement at the front of the class in efforts to quell your energy, your hand signals…the side comments and that scratched black lab table…your fingers nervously drumming and drumming, unstoppable.
In time we went separate ways, varying paths…new people, other lives…different ways and different days.
A vicious pandemic…no laughing matter, now. So the winds of November have come and gone…swept over the empty lands in Nebraska, taking you with them…and we are the lesser for it.
Godspeed Peter…and in loving and in laughing memory…
690 Saint Paul 