The Ghosts Of My Loves

In going through old photo files trying to sort out my [seriously lousy*] early folder strategy, I found this forgotten picture.  This image happened January 3, 2009 on the Canon, and is the only double exposure I’ve ever somehow taken. 
This is the shadow of King superimposed over Nadine.

I miss my loves.  Canine, Human, Feline.  All of them together and each alone.

The blindside thought or noticing that leads to the prickle of tears comes with fair frequency since King died.  There may be a critical mass point of loss, where the one by one leavings quit being separate events and become a continuum of interconnections of mind and heart, and a fire truck sitting at Nolan’s waiting for tires becomes the loss of one love that brings memory of another’s smile or look or touch or word or wag.

It is not a bad thing, I think, this noticing of, response to, the missing parts of heart.  They slow me down for a moment, antidote, in their persistence, my tendency to ramp up and bulldoze into more action when what is needed is quiet listening.

So, my loves.  You are in heart and thought and me.  Each and all.

SONG 41

Cry quiet with me,
there is nothing to change.
what was this becomes that
and a time of being ends.
something new, or old,
or a clear twilight still,
takes its place.

Lie in the dark with me,
in the silent night drift.
take my hand, claim my eyes
and tell me the truth out loud.
I already know,
but there are things of us
need must hear.

Sleep here long into day,
heal in me one more time.
let us pretend not to know
everything just moved away,
lost to perfect reach,
there is nothing to change.
cry quiet.

LLH; 2009

Love,
Loree
 

* Each month has separate folders for each trailhead, each camera source, and each hike pictures were taken on [Jan 09 TCcell01, Jan 09 TC02, etc].  There are 16,391 files in 1,851 folders.  It’s a mess [and, boy, I wish I hadn’t gone looking for that stat – it makes the intent to clean it up a wee bit… daunting]. 

Ease

This is the thing, he said, about ease.

Dusk was creeping in fast, the sun low at the end of the gorge.  Flashlight.  Unknown trail and no flashlight.  You would think I was new or something.  Call the dogs in and turn back for the hike up the hill.

He said, it is a little shy, a tad bit lazy, a lot not easy.

I want to keep going, to find out if this trail goes all the way down from the high above clear to the river way down below.  To see if that little side trail goes anywhere beyond where the windfall lays across it.  To find out, if this trail does go all the way to the down below, whether I can get back up to the high above.  Someone will probably come rescue me if not.  Or not, since I would start back up and how would they rescue me if I discovered halfway up I didn't want to do the rest?  We will come back and find out.  Earlier.  With a flashlight.  Idiot.

It cannot find you, he said, if you don't slow down.

Back through the spot where that just enough water runs over the path to make it muddy and sloggy and slick.  I got through on the way down by hitting those three small rocks.  Missed one.  Mud and wet feet are just mud and wet feet.  Not fatal. Tangled in a branch I could have tossed out of the way on the way down had I been paying attention, and stumbled into one dog.  The other got out of my way. Flashlight.

But ease will sit in your lap and purr if you will stop, he said.

I stood alone on the edge of the cliff and felt the wind watched the cars on the freeway the big beautiful river the night fall.

Just for a minute.