In 1976 I was at La Salle’s in Chico, where I had my regular table and I would go to write poetry either Friday or Saturday afternoons. I wrote the above poem while watching a little girl who was around five or six years old.
She was touching the leaves of the plants, peaking under tables, skipping around the tables, examining the hem of her skirt, running over to her father occasionally to point out one of her discovers or to ask him a question.
What a delight it was to see the level of attention and patience he exhibited each and every time even though he was there with a couple of friends. I liked to think he truly realized what a gift he had been given with the beautiful daughter he had and that he cherished the importance of his time with her.
I can still capture the warmth of the feeling I experienced while watching them for more than an hour. Each time I witness the true joy and love of parents and grandparents I think of the two of them and how they have been such a fond memory so many times during the years since.