Thank you, and onward

The news of Kira’s sudden death has brought me hand-written cards, emails, texts, phone calls, packets of wildflower seeds, hugs in the grocery store and even overnight visits from off-island  pals I haven’t seen in years. I also extend huge appreciation to the Pender friends who’ve included me in dog walks of their own, came with lunch and invited me over for tea, making sure I didn’t spend too much time alone in the early days after her loss. I’ve felt loved and looked after. Thank you!

At a later date, I’ll have a small ceremony with Kira’s ashes up in the wildflower corner of my garden.

Kira with her good friend Maverick, the one with the toy

Onward. This time with no dog. How do I decide when and where to walk without Kira to guide me? It’s erratic. When I do get out on the trails, I miss her physical presence intensely; one of us was always ahead on the path, looking back to make sure the other was following. But I also feel that Kira’s love is keeping me company on these walks, which I didn’t expect. I don’t feel this always; it’s like the juncos who click and seem to come along for a few paces and then remain in a tree, still softly going click. I love their gentle sound.

Possibly by the next newsletter, I’ll get back to sparkly topics. At the moment, what I see is that life and death are part of a sacred dance that includes you and me, the twin fawns I watched crossing the road this morning, the spiky forms of dead cedars all over the island; we live, therefore we change. Here’s a snip from Orchid Heart Elegies, the Third Elegy, that I’m sending out to all of you with a kiss of my fingertips. 

Tell me goodness leaves a mark in the cold spring air, 
that kindness is as immutable as physics, with its own rules
and its own reasons. Tell me fairy tales so we can learn,
all of us, how to behave properly with witches,
to treat animals as our heart-companions. 
Let’s pull flowing archetypes of nobility over 
our ordinary lives: the princess who overcomes, 
the hero who sees with the heart. 
Clothed in finer narratives, aren’t we beautiful?