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My Dad passed away in January of 2026. Myself and my brother were with him, and it was very peaceful. In the days preceding, and the days thereafter, life felt full of reason and full of a sense of awareness, of the world around me. It had been cold and clear, frosty, and the days long. I was awake for much of it, it felt.I have thought of my Dad, as the Man in the Moon, so often, and the day after he died, it was a new moon. A sliver of glinting silver. A day moon, remaining even when the sky bright.“A new moon hung in sky. Fresh faced, yet to be at fullest. Days to wait for that, and come he will, the man in the moon.The light yesterday was like clarity in situ. Like the breath of life released, had shooed away any darkness. Only light remained, and it was bright!Mist through morning trees, cast rays, in shafts like sheet music. Diagonals and horizontals, with silent tune lament. Suspended in air. Golden. Like palpable sparkle. I felt it was graspable. Fold it up. Place it in my pocket. For a later date.A sliver of golden orange, a cloud in streak across blue, lay still, and took our breath away also. My daughter exclaiming, and we spoke of cloud patterns. How Dad would have known what it was called. Cloud named.A walk by loch side, frosty, surface frozen, and birds walking, on water. Solidified. Gulls, ducks, swans. Looking a wee bit confused, but getting on with their days nevertheless.At one point, birdsong rang loud, just over my left shoulder. Sunlight surrounded, rear lit, a little robin. Boldly singing. Unflinching at my close proximity. He sang and sang and sang, and I stayed stock still so as to watch, and listen. Take in his little puffed up chest, and witness the song leave his body. Proclaiming.At night, aurora. Richer and brighter than anyone had seen. Photos galore. Dad was up there with it. This time.Robins appear, they say, and so does magic. Aurora borealis and light like no other. Proof in the ether.”
