Sailing with Dad

Forest and field are tossing
under a granite-gray storm
Fine, soaking rain curtains
pushed by Atlantic gusts --
 
Perfect day to get up in a tree.
 
Pine needles nod permission
on my approach
and I scramble high into place.
Silence the running music
to hear approaching gusts.
Get comfortable in my secure grip.
Close my eyes
 and suddenly
 
~ ~ ~
 
I was sailing with Dad.
Rain and wind became
  chill salt spray and bounding waves.
The trunk was the mast at my back
  as I grasped the stays, not branches.
 
I remember that time
  scrambling on the foredeck
    to douse the jib,
      reducing sail area in a heavy squall.
I felt like a rodeo rider
  as the swells tried to buck me off.
So alive with the thrill of danger.
 
What made me think I could handle that?
Small girl with small hands,
trusting balance, testing fate,
tempting the hungry ocean?
 
You, Dad - you made me brave.
Never questioning my ability,
 simply expecting
  excellence
   grit
    the job done
     no time for doubt.
You said I could, so I did.
 
I miss you.
 
~ ~ ~
 
Dad also taught me
not to be foolhardy in my bravery,
So I climb down  
from my slippery perch
before my hands get too cold to grip.
Thanks, Dad.