Spring has come a bit early though we all know a bitter day or two will still come and ruin the tender vines. Still, I could not resist pulling out the last apricot jam from the freezer to dollop the sunshine in my bowl of hot cereal.
A small pleasure, admittedly. But I give mind to it – a zen-like enjoyment – because it may be the last of the easy sweet fruit. And I give myself a waggling finger of recrimination for not having started the trees last spring as I said I would. Och, the summer – the hellish, dry summer – would have killed them all, anyway. Still, I have a reawakening in my own soil of the flesh and I ache to nurture things into bloom, into food. The roses are riotous at the front door and the pots have been filled with the saved herbs and fresh daisys. Color and flavor to feed all the senses.
I showered early, all the errands complete and nothing more to do than pet dogs, knit, and watch old movies. The dogs, of course, think more petting would be a better way to spend the evening but that is the groove their brains run in. Ah, there – his eyes so clear in this photo…they haven’t that same look, now, and I know why he turns his head so far and crosses my path as we walk. But one dare not say a thing to his father, no. Heartbreak and denial reside there.
This girl, now – the intellect is there, I think. The one that has her knock on the door because she left the chasing toy inside and they need it for their game. Just a dash inside, a curve behind the door and then off she went, a head toss to her beau – “Got it!” she seems to say as he gets his feet under him.
She’s a sensitive creature – more needy, quick to take offense at a harsh word. And it is strange because she is such a large darling (125 lbs) – you expect angry barking and aloofness. Instead, small cries of kinship, and indelicate head butting commence. She cannot understand that she will not fit – that she will tip over the table and all on it with her attempts at positioning. So we make room, adjustments, that give her space and love. Always love…she went without for so long that she tries to make up for it. Make no mistake – any assault on me and a throat will be opened. Fierce love, that.
But the house is quiet and the chores are done, the last of last summer still on my tongue.
What more should I want than this peace? Nothing for the melancholy, no. Because this stays put and I don’t mind so much. We none of us leave here alive.