I keep walking around with the camera this morning trying to capture how it feels here today. No way. Just can't do it.
We slept with the windows open last night and I slept deeply. I dreamed of Pearl. It was one of those dreams where the dead come back and you are aware they are dead and you go, "Huh. You're dead. Why are you here?" I hate those dreams. It's like all that dying business will have to be gone through again.
In my dream, Owen was here and he said, "Pearl!"
He asks about her sometimes. The other day, in real life, he said, "Pearl. Where at?"
How to describe death to a not-quite-two-year-old?
I stumbled around with it and then he said, "Nap," and I agreed. "Yes. She is taking a very long nap."
I came across her leash this morning when I was gathering the other dogs' leashes to take them to Miss Beverly's to be groomed. We bought that leash when Pearl was in puppy class and so it's at least sixteen years old now. We should have buried it with her. It is made of leather and looks and feels like some ancient archeological object. I will put it over the fence by her grave.
One of these days.
Well. A most beautiful gift of a day. I have taken the dogs to Miss Beverly's, I have sheets ready to hang on the line, the chickens are scratching in the leaves and bark-mulch. I want to take a walk. Lily called. She is making soup.
Here is the firespike, beginning to bloom.
Here is the resurrection fern, glowing in this morning's clean light.
Here we are on this earth and sometimes I think that near the solstices the lines get a bit wavery between what we know as this life and what we can only sense but which is probably (surely?) there despite our inability to see it.
And now it's time to quit writing about it and go live it.