Dan Gisvold at Bear Creek

Thursday, March 10, 2011

There are times when I wish I was a "real" writer. That I could describe to you what I see in my mind when I think of Dan.

I can tell you that he walked with a long, loose, lanky stride. His extra long arms always swinging. He never stomped---he kind of walked like you would imagine an elf walking. He barely touched the earth. He had someplace else to go.

When he sat, he slouched. He didn't fit in a chair. He was all corners and angles and a chair had curves and spaces that didn't fit his body. He always looked awkward when he was seated in a chair. But he sat a horse beautifully.

He climbed into a truck with a grace that astounded me. I wanted to say like a monkey but it was smoother than that. It was hours and hours of practice. It was moving only when necessary.

When he would finally sit to watch television or a movie at my home he always chose the couch where he could stretch out. This disturbed the dogs mightily as he took up ALL the space that was normally theirs. I can see his long legs, sans boots, hanging over the end of the couch. His head on a cushion at the opposite end. And as he watched, he would twist his right ear.

Dan twisted his right ear as a child and it was a habit he continued for his whole life. It became his trademark.

Tonight that is how I see him. Sprawled on my couch, twisting his ear, dogs whining at him.

I wish you could see what is in my mind.

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