And, A Day After That

Imbolc and the Shadow Mountain Moon

Wednesday gratefuls: The snow. The three-quarter moon in the clouds. Quiet. Jon and the kids coming up Sunday. Sleep. Still. Rigel and Kep. Kate’s repaired fingers. Tony’s Market. The steer that gave its life for our meal last night. My cast iron skillet. Seoah. A clean house thanks to her.

This is the fourth snowiest start to a February since records have been kept in Colorado. That’s saying something. The snow on our roof is layered like one of the upthrust shelves of basalt or granite, each layer a different snowfall. The snowbank in front where Ted pushes snow is up above the first branches of our aspen. In back the snow has covered the clapper on the Arcosanti bell that Kate bought in Arizona. It’s our dog memorial bell. Each time it rings we think of our departed animals. We’re thinking of Gertie now anyhow.

My grief for Gertie came spilling out over the last week plus. Now that she’s dead I remember her with fondness. Not many tears. A gap though. Only two dog bowls to fill at feeding time. No more pills. Her collar hangs on the lamp next to my computer. She was a loft dog. Those sweet kisses.

The house does have a quieter, less bustling feel. Subdued Rigel and Kep. New routines taking their shape. With Seoah, Kate, and me healing from dog bites, we’ve got reminders of the crazy weeks just past. Quiet is good.

No joy yet on a home for Murdoch. Lots of information to process. No good leads. Not sure where this is headed.

Then, there’s the coronavirus. News to most. Not to my family. Singapore has the most cases outside of China and has reported cases that seem to have originated there. They’ve moved to public health threat level Orange. The next level is Red where everyone would work from home. Joe’s on a military base there, like college dorms a hotspot if an infection occurs. So far he and Mary are both fine.

Mary sent me a picture this morning of her local grocery store. The shelves are bare. Spooky.

As has been true since its emergence from slime or sea vent, life goes on after death, in spite of troubles, doing what life does. Sobering and hopeful.