The wind blew the chimes on a recent day seven years after Dave passed. The chimes tingled ever so gently as if speaking to me on this calm day. These chimes had special meaning to me so I listen when they sound.
Cleaning out the garage a few years ago I came across Dave’s old set of golf clubs. I offered them to my golfer brother, after realizing that I had been holding onto the bag sentimentally and hoping that maybe, just maybe, I’d take up the game someday. I wasn’t sure if any of the now rusty clubs were usable but he gladly took them anyway.
That Christmas my brother arrived at my house and gingerly handed me an awkwardly wrapped gift. I opened the package to find a tangle of strings and a wooden base with a golf head attached to the middle. As I lifted the wooden base I realized it was a wind chime. Chuck looked at me with tears in his eyes and says, “This was made with Dave’s clubs.” Tears flowed down my face as I looked at this gift made with love and care. I cried even more when he handed our three kids their own set to hang in their home.
The chimes now hang outside my kitchen window so I hear them ringing often. On one recent day I was intrigued that the chimes were making a sound despite barely detecting a breeze.
Was Dave talking to me? What was he saying? What would he say to me seven years after leaving this world?
I can only imagine. And then maybe pen a poem to capture those thoughts.
It’s Tuesday and I am sharing my post with the writing community over at Two Writing Teachers. Take a peek and consider joining in the writing fun!