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 A walk in the High Grass
I can remember looking at the top of his head; as he carried me on his shoulders through fields of ripe blackberries.
Thousands of insect voices combined together with the birds to create the familiar sounds of a summer day in Texas.
The scorching sun would accompany us as my father walked
easily through the waist high briars.
He wore kaki work clothes, and he smelled good...
live lava soap, and old spice.
I clutched his curly grey hair...and he held my feet.
I wasn't afraid; I knew that I was safe up there on my father's strong shoulders.
Sometimes he would whistle or sing for me as he walked...
Old Songs like The Yellow Rose of Texas, and Knoxville Girl
He knew them all!
And I just rode there, loving him, more than anyone in the world.



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