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Sunday, November 9, 2014
Night Air
That particular window, the one above the kitchen sink, has no screen. The air comes in just as it is. This night's air carried news of a Life hanging by a thread, and it carried the plaintive voices of autumn's last flock of geese flying to a fairer place. The cries of geese carry greater weight now that they've broken this stillness, wept on this night air.
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After completing this new ritual of following word-trails about Dad, I'm heading for bed. Re-reading this, I noticed that you posted it exactly 12 hours, to the minute, before Dad left his worn-out body behind. It made me cry a bit, too.
ReplyDeleteI love you, Deb, and I'm praying for you this week.
I know the worn-out path of that ritual.
DeleteIt's funny how things as small as minutes can mean so much now.
It may sound dramatic to say it, but even as I heard those geese I felt a strange urgency. I've never felt such a heavy bittersweetness, such a surreal moment that felt outside of time.
And I love you, too, and thank you for the prayers. I'm praying for you, as well.
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