A fall day with a dog

The dog wasn't ours.

She belonged to another couple that lived in the area, the man

happening to be my son, the woman, his wife, the ones who lost their son three years ago.

so they ran away from that place where their baby never went home to, where the crib

stood empty, the room deadly silent, where there was too much grief to hold.

So, we are here, in this brilliant autumn sunshine, where they are, with their dog,

who is the surrogate for the moment, until a baby arrives, hopefully this year.

It's truly spectacular, and so far away, and I miss this man and this woman.

The yellow leaves of the aspen trees litter the trail, the sky is brilliant blue 

we are missing a small baby boy.  

He lingers in the air. 

 

The Closing of his eyes

His eyes are closed now, the dappled sun no longer fills our eyes

like it did that October 18 when his son and I joined hands in front of 

friends and family.

It was Fall Equinox where the day and night approach each other, where

nighttime comes sooner every evening, and, in that moment, I should have known that 

night would eventually fall, and day would no longer arrive.

his days have ended, even as ours will continue through this Fall Equinox

and back towards Spring, where the sun will arrive a little earlier and 

leave a little later.

perhaps this is what we should remember in this current moment of darkness and loss.

but, wait for that moment to arrive naturally, as the weeks pass by and we

spend weeks of winter and cold, long nights as there

is no way to rush into Spring, the shallow joy of forever Spring

does not appeal as one would miss the gradual swelling of brown buds

into the pale green that promises Spring.  

Let his eyes rest in darkness, as ours swell with occasional tears.

Do not rush towards happiness, but rest quietly in appreciation of

what was, and what was lost.  

RIP, Big Papa.  

 

Bella World

all she has to do is look pretty, cock her ears a bit

and little girls will come, even tall blonde women, 

they know that Bella loves them.

In living rooms, on the street, she walks boldly towards

them, tail high and wagging, eager and they stop,

smile, and ask

"Can I pet her?"

This is Bella World, where oxytocin flows in dog

and human alike, where homework is put aside,

dishes are left undone and dog hair abides 

on kitchen floors and couches, alike.  

When will Bella be invited again to your house?

 

Cutest mailbox ever

I'd call it the pneumonia mailbox, in honor of feeling sluggish, yet still alive,

enough to be bored, to cast about for something to do, that is not

too demanding.

The mailbox.

Five years ago, leaning dangerously off a shattered pole

(ah the destructiveness of youth), then righted, but

unhappy.

Ugly, every day.

And me, unable to muster the discipline of taping lines,

complex, fussy designs, inspired by sunflowers 

I painted her yellow, then considered the beauty of nature

where there are no straight lines and all are welcome (!)

The colors of our house.

I coughed and sputtered, and painted a beautiful mailbox.

Memories of pneumonia.