Fallen

Lughnasa                                                                     New (College) Moon

It fell out of a book. Wouldn’t have meant much to somebody else, a polariod, slightly faded, with a golden haired dog looking through a gate, his head on the bottom supports. But for me it was another one of those Olympian bolts. Tor. God, I loved that dog.

Tor used to sleep on the corner of the Persian rug, right by the edge of the large glass-doored bookcase. When I got up in the morning, when I went to bed at night, he was there. It was with him that I first started consciously stopping, getting down on his level, rubbing his head, telling him how much I loved him.

The shortness of the Irish Wolfhound’s life span awakened me to the brief time we have with those we love. Awakened me to not waste the moment by passing by, too busy, ignoring the thumping tail. Those brown eyes turned up.

So consider this, for this moment, my coming to you, on your own level. My hand touching you, with the only gift we mortals have, presence. Me to you. Tor taught me this.


One Response to Fallen

  1. Charlie,
    I felt your pat on my head. Your reflection reminds me of one of our favorite cows, Mabel. Any time we said her name in the barn full of 100 others, she’d moo in response. Just calling her name was like patting her head. I also remember being with her when she died. Profound.
    In gratitude, for the memory.
    Bill