Wednesday, September 7, 2011

This Life

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.


  1. I think it is cool that Owen asked about Pearl. Two year old's are very much in the moment and don't think much about anything except right now. That shows intelligence.

    About 20 years back I was looking after a little boy with Cerebral palsy. One day his cat got hit by a car so they buried her in the back yard. His parents told me not to tell him that she has died. (He was 5.) One day he asked me where she was and I didn't want to lie to him so what did I say? "She's in the backyard"!! ha ha

  2. Rest in Peace, Pearl.
    Just yesterday, I for some reason remembered taking a walk with my daughter when she was about 2. We came upon a dead cat, and she wanted to pet it. I had to explain about dead. Not moving. Not breathing. It was a big moment.

  3. My goodness this is just beautiful, Mary. You are so, so right about the dream-state near the solstices. I've felt the lines bleeding a lot the past few days. So much love to you.

  4. Beautiful. I can almost feel your atmosphere from here.

  5. What a wonderful post Mary Moon! Photos and words are just beautiful... We should all go live it...

    Rained here in Pasco all day... for 2 days now... Not complaining... we need it so!

  6. I think of Pearl often. I think of my dead dogs and cats often. I miss those that have gone. Their lives were too short.

  7. I miss PEARL! I hope she is having a high old time in the afterlife. You were right to tap dance around Owen's question. There is plenty of time for him to grapple with death. Not now.

    You are a good soul, and I love you.

    I love Syd, too. His comment was dear.

  8. I love the fern photo!

    I once ordered one from some Lillian Vernon kind of catalog. Seriously. Probably paid$15 for it. Nothing came of it even in Louisiana. Very much like my sea monkey experience.


Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.