A fire on the hearth, an angel in the wind, snow on the ground and a blizzard settin’ in. Music in the air, daddy on the strings, brother has his bow, mama starts to sing.
Sister at the keys, playin’ soft and low. The coal mine is callin’ but I can’t go. I lost it in the holler and slid off the road. My family stayed home, so they don’t know.
I’m listenin’ to the music, layin’ in the snow. The coal mine is callin’ but I can’t go. I hear the song playin’ like an angel in the wind. As the snow stops fallin’ the music starts to end.
Mama sing the song. Sing it soft and low. The coal mine is callin’ and I can’t go. Sister play the keys. Play ’em soft and slow. The coal mine is callin’.
Brother… Daddy… I’m feeling awful thin, and I can hear ’em callin’ like an angel in the wind.
-H. Louis Jones Jr
My dad died 6 years ago. December 15, 2011 at 1:55 in the morning. I can hardly believe so much time has passed since I saw him last. Grief is a tolerable but persistent presence, always there to remind me of what I don’t have and what I never had and what I’ll never have again. But, what I do have I cling to still. My dad liked to listen to bluegrass from time to time. So, this one is for him. A banjo and a fiddle could make this poem breathe. I love you dad. Here’s to the angel in the wind.