A salmon plug mobile above your crib.
Cousins. Karla Peters & Lars Peters.
In the backpack you rode, down the side of a blue mountain.
The tent, with floor of hay, under your feet.
Later, a boat. Another home.
Chipmunk hunting.
School. How smart you are, the kids said.
Conversations of presidents, democracy, history…
Friends found you. Near and far.
You stayed with us one night. On a boat.
Life was complicated then. You had made a friend.
Someone with differences, too, who accepted you for you.
The bird feeder you made us for Christmas one year, when you were younger. Came from the heart.
Such a kind heart. A beautiful heart.
When the birds come, into the yard, I think of you.
The birds are in the yard. All the time.
Flying free.
RIP Lars Peters
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