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Grandpa wasted away in his death, found with the spring thaw, eaten by nature in her hunger to green the leaves. These men of greatness dont exist anymore...he was the last that I know of. Father,Leader, power in the steel of his eyes. Those grinding orbs a victim of some small insects feeding needs. The leather of his skin , sandpaper that brushed my worries away with the grit of a hug, now pale and bloated with the thaw. Seems the human body is poorly adapted to freezing for a winter.
When I found his wisdom....two years ago I never thought he could die....never wanted to think it. The broken thing at the cliff bottom wasnt what he was to me, now this dressed up puppet in the wooden box stares out from sewn eyelids. In my mind, he is not gone, decayed.In my mind he is the hero in every book, and his teachings are inside my heart...so he cant be dead.
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