L.N. Alberts

By LN Alberts I see him clear as day, through my childish view, but stepping back, my gaze wizened, seeing the world from his shoes. I see a very different place, his life so unfamiliar. It's then when I realize, he's more than a father figure.   Through my father's eyes, he is a husband, trusted friend, to a beautiful, loving bride, her devotion without end. Through my father's eyes, he is a son and stalwart brother, needed to stand side by side by family and others. Through my father's eyes, he is a generous stranger. Giving of his time and strength, despite the cost and danger. Through my father's eyes, he is a trusted employee. Always dedicated and loyal, loathe to finally leave. My father was a gentle soul, who found true peace at last. His time ended here on earth, so I admire him from his past.

By LN Alberts Buried deep in the wooded glade, the hunter lies statue still. His ever watchful eyes searching for movement on the hill. A pair of fawns, carefree and spry, dance across the lawn. Their clever games and joyful noises greeting the coming dawn. The hunter grins, his spirit high, when they begin to chase each other. A doe follows cautiously, ears alert, their fiercely protective mother. His hands itch to raise his gun, but his enraptured gaze remains. The innocent way they play reminds him of his own. Still asleep in their beds, waiting for him to come home. Sunlight peeks through leaves, as the darkness gently wanes. A reproachful grunt of the doe, signals her disapproval. The fawns, undaunted, bound away, unmoved by her scruple. The hunter's heartbeat quickens, his opportunity soon will fade. He grips his rifle tightly, easing it to his shoulder blade. Silently, he leans into position, aligning his sight just so. And he is rewarded for his hesitation, with the fleeing...

By LN Alberts  In memory of my Dad.   The engine hums a noisy tune beneath the rider's feet. He straightens his stance a bit, slides forward in the seat. An American flag adorns his head bandana wrapped up tight. Leather jacket, denim, boots, well attired for a blustery night. Helmet drops onto his head, a visor over his face. He revs the engine gingerly, prepared to leave this place. One last glance behind him, at the one he'd likely never miss was enough motivation to propel him into the abyss. Darkness cloaked him fully, no lights or stars this night. No guidance for his journey, but the glow of a lone headlight. Off he sailed, through the storm, without purpose or a plan. A ride alone could save him, restore this weary man. The wind tore at his jacket, roared loudly at his head. The blacktop below flew by, as he floated on the treads. His mind cleared of anger, body relieved of the fight. His soul reawakened, restored, filled with spiritual light. Nothing spoke to his hear...