In the calm and quiet of yesterday morning I could
hear every wingbeat of chickadees as they twirled overtop me while I soaked in
my hot tub. The lake below lay still and
smooth as water inside a closed bottle.
The sky so vividly blue a trout might mistake it for another kind of
river.
I woke very early in the morning, rising from a
dream of lying beside my wife. For some
reason I have been dreaming about her for the last week. Dreams of her coal black hair caught in the
sun. Dreams of her smile as she walked
toward me. Dreams of us simply stretched
alongside each other, talking. Dreams of
being young again.
I have not really had such dreams since she passed
over two years ago. More importantly, the
dreams have been decidedly pleasant. I
woke yesterday with a grin. As Lord
Byron said: “The heart will break, but
broken live on.”
The heavy and solid sorrow has mostly gone from me
now—replaced by quick knifes that stab deep and then fall away as the scent of
lavender.
Healing? I
suppose that is so.
I have the birds to keep me now. I have the Russian sage to press in my
fingers and perfume the air. I have my
big girl in New York City. I have my
unbroken string heart beats.
--Mitchell
Hegman
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