A hat, a scarf

This week, letting go of what's gone; and what we get in return.

Weeks after his death, we emptied a bootload of my father’s clothes at a nearby homeless shelter.  Box after box, then finally, an afterthought of a white plastic bag.  I opened it and saw for the last time his favourite hat and scarf, tweed and silk, years of him there, passed on to comfort another I would never meet.  

“Terrible is the thought of our old clothes”  (W.G. Sebald)